In Search of Lost Time
by NYvamp
Summary: AH/AU: Eric and Bill are brothers.  Eric is older, more educated, more successful and unhappily married to his college sweetheart, Pam.  Bill is married to Sookie.  The couples reunite for Thanksgiving this year and Eric and Sookie feel their connection.
1. Chapter 1

I'd like to thank the amazing AH/AU authors of True Blood/SVM for inspiring me to write in this realm. I never thought it was my cup of tea until I read your amazing stories. To name a few: mikimargs, FarDareisMai2. You are so talented!

This story features my favorite Eric . . . the brooding God who wants what isn't his.

Sookie's POV

I started lining up outfits to pack about two weeks prior to the trip. I'm normally not a high-maintenance kind of girl when it comes to packing, but I wanted to look perfect. Thanksgiving would be much colder on Long Island than what I was accustomed to in Metairie. I felt no guilt about my veritable shopping spree for boots, cashmere, cute hats, and a knockout, but warm, cocktail dress.

I haven't seen Eric and Pam in five years. They were married about seven years ago, after finishing graduate school. Eric was always wildly successful and had an untouchable aura about him. His quick wit and indefatigable character had propelled him up the corporate ladder. I knew he worked on Wall Street, but I didn't know the details.

Most wondered why he chose to marry Pam. She was seriously lacking in personality, and, while she was pretty in college, she quickly assumed that comfortably married persona, including extra pounds, lack of makeup, and a closet full of yoga pants and flip flops. She had been furloughed from her career as a public relations executive about two years ago and subsequently made a half-hearted attempted to start her own firm. Not surprisingly, in this economy, that was not very lucrative.

Eric and Bill are fiercely competitive, as brothers who are close in age often are. For the past several years, their annual holiday phone call to each other consists of Bill (and presumably Eric too) pacing around the house, trying to one-up each other with recounts of business deals, trips and major purchases. This was pretty characteristic of Bill lately, preoccupied with money, uninterested in most of the important things in life. Sometimes I imagined what drastic changes I could make without his notice . . . dying my hair, getting a tattoo, having the house painted purple, going back to college.

Bill spent a considerable amount of his time seething that Eric made more money than him. He knew this because occasionally his sales career would require him to travel to New York, and he would visit Eric, usually just for a quick lunch. During one of these visits, Bill's curiosity superseded his tact and he rifled through Eric's desk to find a pay stub.

So perhaps my extra care in packing some fabulous outfits was a subconscious effort to help my husband, underdog Bill, win the "who has the hotter wife" portion of their competition. Or maybe it was something else. . . .

I was the first to spot Eric, seated in his flashy red Audi at the arrivals terminal. He was smiling broadly as he jumped out of the car and hugged us both with his characteristic boundless energy. Being the shortest, I was relegated to the tiny backseat, behind Eric, who gentlemanly folded his seat forward and guided me in. "It's just a short ride, Sookie," he consoled me with another award winning smile. His teeth were blindingly white. I relaxed in the backseat, taking in some scenery as Eric and Bill took turns asserting themselves about meaningless topics. Half of my friends had major crushes on Eric in high school, and probably still did. I eyed him through his rearview mirror, careful to do so only while he was maneuvering the car through traffic as to not elicit a return gaze. I often found myself in conversations which started by a friend asking, "What do you think he sees in _her_?" And I truly did not have an answer.

Eric pulled into the driveway of their picturesque colonial, behind Pam's Audi. They had bought this house right after getting married, shocking everyone with its price tag. It could have been the model for a dollhouse, or featured in House Beautiful. It was on the nicest street in the nicest neighborhood – altogether perfect.

Pam greeted us at the door. At least I was assuming it was Pam . . . she was beyond slovenly. Five years of the good life had not been good to her. Her hair was very probably air-dried and the natural look did not suit her. She was wearing an old t-shirt, sweatpants and socks which seemed to belong to Eric. She looked as if she were about to go outside and wash the car, but I knew that wasn't likely. I wondered briefly if she was sick. She had gained a considerable amount of weight, something Bill had never mentioned, so I assumed it must have been gradual.

I made a motion to give her a hug and she seemed genuinely confused by the gesture. The last time I saw Pam, I didn't think it was possible for an individual to be more aloof and unfriendly, but now I saw she had outdone herself. I called upon my best acting skills to hide my surprise at her appearance and general dislike for her, "Thank you so much for inviting us, we're so happy to be here." "It's good to see you guys," she replied with effort. Eric was standing to the side, observing the exchange, striking his usual power stance, his feet planted just a bit further than shoulder width apart, his arms folded across his chest, his torso leaning slightly forward – all of which made him look God-like, "Let's sit down," he said.

Their living room achieved that elusive balance of stylish and majorly comfortable, achievable only from hiring a seasoned designer. From my leather chair, I saw a woman shuffle from the hallway to the foyer and quietly begin to move our suitcases. _Oh my Gosh, they have a maid now._ I smiled to myself as I thought how Bill would definitely struggle with that one.

Eventually the conversation turned to the topic of Thanksgiving. Bill offered, "Can we pick up some dessert or wine or something?" "Not necessary," Eric quickly replied, "No, we're all set. Pam's parents, brother and sister are arriving tomorrow morning, and some friends are joining us in the afternoon also." Bill pressed, "Sookie makes delicious apple dumplings, have you ever had an apple dumpling?" "Yes," said Pam. "No," said Eric simultaneously. This was the norm with Eric and Pam. They had always led separate lives with separate interests and experiences. "Everything's taken care of," Eric repeated, "Just relax and enjoy the holiday."

Afternoon gave way to evening and we found ourselves in Eric's home theatre. Pam had retired early and Eric insisted Bill sit in the subwoofer chair to feel the bass. Or, more accurately, to raise his jealousy another notch. This left Eric and me on the sofa. I curled up with the cashmere throw and tried not to fall asleep.

When I woke up, the first thing I saw was the clock reading 3:15. I looked around to register where I was and my eyes settled on Eric. "Sookie," he said gently, "you were tired. How was your sleep?" I realized that my feet were tucked slightly under his thigh, something I often did with Bill to warm my chronically cold feet. "Sorry," I said, a little embarrassed. I wondered if he'd felt obligated to stay awake with me, "I hope I didn't keep you up." I began to pull my feet back but froze when I felt his warm hand on them, "Not at all. Can I get you something to drink?"

I wanted to ask where Bill was, but I already knew the answer. Bill was undoubtedly in bed and had been for hours. "I think I'm just going to go to bed," I found myself hoping he'd protest and began to chide myself. "I'll take you to your room," he said, patting my feet and standing. He stretched out his hand to help me up and I accepted. I followed him to the room where Bill was snoring loudly and realized I could have found it myself by following the sound. "Thanks, Eric, goodnight," I said as I quietly opened the door and slid inside. "Bonne nuit et dors bien, Sookie, a demain," he said, and my breath caught in my throat.

After I'd closed the door I stood there, unable to move, and holding my breath for a considerable amount of time. The only class in high school I'd had with Eric was Advanced French. His senior year, my sophomore year – it seemed like so long ago. That was Eric and Bill's first year at East Jefferson High School. They had moved from Atlanta to Metairie to live with their grandparents following the tragic deaths of their parents in a car accident. I felt instantly connected to Bill, with whom I shared most classes and track practice, since my parents were also both deceased, and I lived with my Gran. Eric and I had been paired up for the major assignment of the term, an in-depth analysis of Proust's 'À la recherche du temps perdu' (In Search of Lost Time/Remembrance of Things Past).

I spent most of the project rolling my eyes and working double time, trying to cover Eric's share, because his 'Advanced French' was clearly not up to Metairie standards (not surprisingly given the French heritage of our area). The amount of translation required lots of extra hours' work, many of which were spent at Eric (and Bill's) house. This was probably the beginning of Bill's interest in me, as he was forced to notice me day after day, laid out on his living room rug with his brother and a mess of textbooks.

I changed into pajamas and climbed into bed. I nudged Bill to wake him up, which was no easy task. "Why didn't you wake me up?" I asked. Bill rubbed his face and sighed, "Ugh, Eric chewed my ear off, I had to get away when I could. Get this – he says Pam is draining him dry." "What?" I asked. "Yeah, her business is losing money, she hasn't worked in two years and she's spending a fortune on housekeeping, a nutritionist, a personal trainer, a life coach, an interior decorator, God knows what else - and shopping like it's going out of style." "Whoa," I was really shocked. I couldn't believe that almighty Eric couldn't control his wife's spending. But more so, I couldn't believe Eric was telling Bill about his problem. "Eric says he's proven money cannot buy happiness," Bill closed his eyes to signify his intent to return to sleep. "Hmph," I said, and pulled up the covers.

I slept embarrassingly late and stumbled to the kitchen in my pink flannel pajamas just in time to join Bill, clad in a flannel robe, sitting at the breakfast table. Eric was in the kitchen, working alongside the same woman I had seen moving our luggage. "Who likes waffles?" he boomed. He was already dressed in a grey tracksuit and his cheer was infectious. "I love waffles!" I answered, "Can I help?" "No, no, just pour yourself some juice or coffee." Shortly, Eric placed a platter of waffles in the middle of the table and took a chair across from mine. I watched him garnish his waffles with syrup and fruit and noticed he wasn't wearing his wedding ring.

As we were enjoying our waffles, Pam entered the kitchen and muttered a general greeting to us all. Eric did not acknowledge her. "Today," he began, "I thought Bill and I would run the Turkey Trot." Oh dear, I was going to be stuck with Pam for the better part of the day. Bill agreed, always up for some brotherly competition, and after breakfast, they were off to run. Pam disappeared upstairs for the remainder of the morning. After I showered and dressed, I lounged around the living room, thumbing through magazines and flipping tv channels.

I had nearly fallen asleep when I heard Pam descend the stairs. "I've got to pick up my parents, surely you won't want to visit the airport again . . . I'll see you in a few," she seemed to be speaking to the wall and I almost didn't feel the need to answer her. "Bye," I said and the door closed behind her. I remembered back to when I'd met her parents, Russell and Sophie Anne, at her wedding. They were just as surly as Pam, but with an increased haughtiness that was both displeasing and unfounded.

I decided to find the housekeeper and offer my assistance. She was, of course, in the kitchen as I suspected. "Hi, I'm Sookie, Bill's wife." "I'm Ginger," she said shyly. "Ginger, everyone else has gone out and I'd love to help, what can I do?" She looked reluctant, so I tried to be more assertive and picked up a saucepan. "I've done cranberry sauce before," I said, and began looking for sugar and an orange. Ginger seemed to lack confidence in general and I wondered how she survived in this household. "So how long have you worked for the Northmans?" "Two years," she replied. "How do you like it?" "Well, it was alright I guess, but this will be my last week." "Oh, why?" "I don't know, miss. Mrs. Northman just said she wouldn't need someone full time anymore." "Have you found another position?" I asked gently. "Not yet," she answered slowly, "But Mr. Northman thought he might have a position for me in the near future."

"Sookie?" Bill's voice boomed from the foyer. "Kitchen," I answered. Bill and Eric appeared in their post-marathon glory. I looked them over and waited for the run down. Eric spoke first, "Billy outdid himself – eleven minutes, thirty-six seconds!" Bill was nodding and I had to ask, "Did you place?" "Twenty third," Bill answered. "And Eric?" I asked, wondering why I bothered to feed the competition. "Third," Bill finally said. Eric was watching me intently the whole time. "Well done, boys!" and I lifted my arms between them for two high-fives. "Sookie, are you cooking?" Eric asked. "Yes, I am. Wouldn't have it any other way."

While Bill and Eric got cleaned up, Pam returned home with her family. The introductions were dry, and I was a little surprised to realize Russell and Sophie Anne didn't even seem to remember me. Pam's siblings, Jessica and Hoyt, were much more tolerable, however. The kitchen got a little crowded after their arrival and I headed to my room.

Bill was dressing and I helped him with his tie. "Sorry you were stuck with Pam today," he offered. "Actually, I wasn't . . . she was upstairs and then left for the airport." "I hope you don't mind, Eric wanted to play some racquetball while I'm here too," he seemed to be asking permission. Of course I didn't mind. I thought it would be great if we could all do something together, but clearly that wasn't how plans were laid in the Northman household. "Sure," I said. Bill leaned in to kiss me and his hands skimmed my body, "I love this dress. You look so hot." Typical, eloquent Bill.

Thanksgiving dinner consisted of the typical elaborate feast. Gleaming silver, bone china and heavy crystal scattered the white linen table. Eric began the meal very eloquently, "I'd like to say how thankful I am for our guests tonight, those whom we see often," his eyes scanned the table at Pam's family and his friends, "and those whom we don't see as much as we'd like," his eyes glided to me, where I was seated directly across from him again. I smiled but my embarrassment caused me to break his gaze and he continued, "And for our families and friends who are no longer with us. Please enjoy."

Dinner gave way to dessert, despite the groans of overstuffedness. "So, Sookie, how's work?" Pam asked with a hint of sarcasm. I was the black sheep career-wise in the family because I didn't work in the business world (or earn six figures). I taught at a special education school for very challenging children, most of whom were physically aggressive or had been adjudicated by the legal system. My general impression was that everyone thought I was nuts for getting myself out of bed each day to do such meaningless work. Their disdain only made me more determined to show them how wrong they were.

"It's going well, one of my students is applying to community college this year." Pam was trying not to laugh. Then Bill did something to infuriate me. "Tell them about the kid who thinks his backpack is on fire," he prodded. "He has autism, _Bill_, there's nothing else to tell," I answered and returned my attention to my dessert. "Or tell them about the boy who sent his teacher to the emergency room with a head injury, what did he do, throw a radio at her?" He was laughing and the table was becoming more quiet. I could feel myself turning red.

Russell suddenly took an interest, "Have you ever been hurt at work?" Bill looked thrilled that the topic had come up. It held true entertainment value for him, though I'll never understand why. I glanced a panicked look at Eric, who had stopped eating his pumpkin pie and was looking at me with concern. "Um, unfortunately, last year, yes," I started, but was interrupted by Bill, "This kid broke her hand . . . did it with his one hand!" I looked to Eric, the person with whom I was closest to at this table, besides Bill, who was seriously driving a wedge between us at this moment. Eric was frozen and his mouth was now open. I briefly contemplated excusing myself.

Eric quickly licked his lips and said, "Sookie, you must be very brave then. You're better than me, I don't think I could deal with children like that day after day." My smile was starting to surface but he continued, "You must go through slews of behavioral or psychology trainings." I nodded. "That sounds interesting, my last training was on valuation modeling. What a snore, the only upside was it was in Cabo. . . ." And, just like that, Eric had changed the subject. I breathed deeply and gathered myself back together again.

The next morning, I awoke before the sun and sleepily walked into the kitchen to find Eric alone. He was impatiently flicking the touch screen of his phone. "Good morning!" he said, "What would you like for breakfast?" I smiled and walked over next to him, peering at his phone, "You're looking for recipes? It's 5:00 in the morning, and last night was Thanksgiving. Let's just have cereal." Eric was shaking his head to protest, "I'm serious. You can help this time." I tried not to smile so big.

I used the sassiest voice I could muster while still approximating a French accent, "Je voudrais du crepes avec du bananas et chocolat." Eric smiled and he had clearly interpreted my return volley as I had intended. We were moving quickly, and the counter was soon covered with ingredients. "Ok, start the mixer," he said, carrying the butter and milk back to the refrigerator. I handed him the eggs while moving the lever on the mixer without paying attention, and a spurt of flour came up and covered my face and shirt. "Pffff!" I was trying not to spit and I turned around to Eric who was laughing uncontrollably. I couldn't help burst out laughing too. "Did you even put any of the liquids in?" I asked, brushing off my face. Eric was shaking his head and he walked toward me, reaching in his pocket for his phone.

"Wait, let me take a picture," he said, still laughing. "No!" I protested, "I'm in my pajamas . . . and my hair is a mess . . . and I've got flour all over me!" Eric was looking at me and his laughing stopped and his face became serious, "You're beautiful." I inhaled a ragged breath but was unable to reply. Did he just mean to say that? He immediately looked down and cleared his throat and I could tell he hadn't. He turned and walked toward the refrigerator and was facing Bill when he entered the kitchen.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the reviews! Many readers were shocked at my version of human Pam (rightfully so!) but I appreciate your willingness to go with it. Now back to the good stuff. . . .

"What is all the noise at this early hour?" Bill was letting his grumpiness show. "It's breakfast," Eric said with a smile, "It seems Sookie is messy in the kitchen." I scoffed and was preparing my retort when Eric turned to me and winked. It was so chaste and sexy that I felt my heartbeat speed up and I couldn't imagine the flush my complexion was enduring.

Eric was almost giddy as we finished the crepes. He looked at Bill, "Tonight I'll take you guys to LeClerq's. It's a new lounge I know you'll love." "I think Sookie has plans tonight," Bill reported, "Her friend Tara lives in the city and they're going to . . . something or other." "It's 80s night," I added, "Just go on without me, I never get to see Tara." "Sookie's right," Eric covered, "The scene at LeClerq's is better on Saturday nights. Let's go tomorrow."

Pam walked in the room, "What's LeClerq's?" Their separate lives were blaringly obvious today too. Eric didn't bother answering her and she didn't seem to care. "Sookie what cute pjs!" she said. "Thanks . . .," I said, wanting to compliment her too, but I had difficulty discerning whether her clothes were pajamas, yoga wear, or regular clothes, so I was quiet. "Want to come to the gym today?" Pam asked. As if anyone could say, "no" to that question on the morning after Thanksgiving! "Sure," I replied.

By mid-morning I was dressed for the gym, and really looking forward to it. I was pacing around the front room, waiting for Pam, when I nearly ran into Eric. "I gather you're waiting for Pam to go to the gym?" I nodded. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but she's sleeping." "Oh," I said, "is she all right?" "She's fine," Eric replied quickly and, it seemed, a little irritated. "I'd take you, but I think she has to be there for you to go, no?" "Yeah, don't worry about it." He smiled and started up the stairs. I contemplated changing but then decided to take a run around the block.

I had gone nearly a half block when I realized I would be having a much better run if I'd brought my ipod. I turned around and ran back. When I opened the front door, I heard Eric yelling and I froze, door half open. His voice was distant and I assumed he was upstairs. I knew I shouldn't but I listened, ". . . can't just sleep in your bedroom all day, for Christ's sake! There's nothing even wrong with you!" Pam's voice was full of rage, "You're not going to tell me what to do! They're not even my family, I don't care!"

My eyes were bulging out of my head and I knew this was wrong. "Why are you so cold and heartless? You have everything you want! What did I ever . . . ." I shut the door quietly and said a silent prayer they hadn't heard me. Eric had probably gone upstairs and woken her up to convince her to take me to the gym. I felt horribly guilty for leading to that fight.

That evening, Eric offered to drive me to the train station. "Sookie, let me put my number in your phone so you can call when you get back." He was already pressing in numbers, "Or if you need anything. Just call me." His eyes followed me as I put my phone away, unbuckled myself and rose from the seat, my hand lingering on the door frame. "Thanks Eric, but it might be really late. I could just call a cab." "No," he said very quickly, "I'll be up."

I met Tara outside the Pyramid Club. She surprised me by being accompanied by her new boyfriend, JB. I was happy for her, although I wasn't sure what I thought of JB. He seemed a bit basic for my friend Tara, but I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, at least for the evening. When we got inside, the music was great, but the scene was very couple oriented. Those who were not coupled up were embroiled in a heated pick-up scene. I immediately felt like a third wheel and wished Tara had told me about JB so that I could have coerced Bill into coming. Bill hates dancing and is not even really a music fan, so I didn't protest when he didn't want to come. But now I really needed him with me.

We started dancing in a trio, which I thought would stave off any guys looking for a hookup. No such luck. A scruffy guy came up behind me and started grinding into me during a Bananarama song. Tara was laughing at us but I was not enjoying it. When the song was over, I made my way over to the bar queue and texted Bill: _I need you. Please come, it's all couples and I can't have any fun by myself. _

I assumed the wallflower position with my drink, hoping I would disappear until Bill arrived. But song after song passed and I received no text back. I could see Tara and JB having a blast and I felt truly lonely. I texted Bill again: _Save me from the pickup scene. I need someone to dance with! Call me. _If he wouldn't come for the sake of my having a good time, maybe a little jealousy could convince him. I had just sent the message when I felt an arm snake around my shoulders and a hand attempt to guide my elbow into the crowd, "I'm Andre. Let's dance, sugar." "I'm waiting for someone," I attempted. "It's ok, I don't mind," he said.

His hands were on my hips in a flash and I had never been so thrilled when I heard my phone buzz a moment later. I put it to my ear and pushed back away from Andre, gesturing for him to wait a minute. I walked into the entrance hall, toward the ladies' room, repeating, "Hello?" and trying to hear the caller. I felt like an idiot when I looked at the screen to see it had been a text: _I kept hearing beeps. It's Eric, Bill's asleep. I'm getting on the train now. _I was smiling to myself as I entered the bathroom stall. I scolded myself for being so happy about Eric's response. I should not be this happy to see my brother-in-law. I should be bummed that Bill was asleep. I took some deep breaths, reapplied my lipstick and went to look, in vain, for Tara.

As _Dancing With Myself _by Billy Idol was ending, I felt a hand on the small of my back. I turned to see Eric, wearing a black button down shirt and an amazing pair of jeans. I lined myself up with him, breathing a sigh of relief, and we began to dance. "Thank you," I said from my beaming smile. He leaned into me and replied, "My pleasure." It occurred to me that it would be polite to ask where Pam was, but I just couldn't make myself say the words.

Eric was an amazing dancer. I guess I hadn't seen him dance since his wedding. He wasn't the kind of dancer who drew attention to himself, but he was smooth and sexy without being sexual. I had always heard that men who were great dancers were also great at sex. I hadn't conducted nearly enough research to draw a conclusion, in fact I'd only had one subject and I didn't really know how to rate Bill's sex skills. But as I watched Eric I felt that the correlation must be true. Eric loved to dance, and he was good at it. Come to think of it, he also loved to drive and was good at that, too. I was pulled out of my thoughts as I felt Eric's hand behind me, pulling me closer to him as a new song began.

I started to get lightheaded from the feel of his body making contact with mine. It was by no means a spectacle in comparison to the rest of the dance floor, but our bodies were very close and his hand was resting at the nape of my neck. I remembered to breathe. But I wanted more, I wanted to touch and feel him. I strategized that I could do whatever I desired if I just laughed it off like I was just having some good fun. So I slid my body up and down his, laughing obviously. But Eric wasn't sharing my silliness. His eyes were serious, burning into me, as he spun me so that my back was to him. His hands were on my hips, moving with me, pulling me to him, and I felt his breath on my neck as he leaned down.

I turned my head slightly to smile at him and in an instant his lips were on mine. It was just a brief kiss, that probably could have been mistaken for an accident. It wasn't deep, but it was wet and hot and full of desire. I felt Eric straighten up and take a step back from me but I continued to dance, pretending nothing happened. "I'm going to the bar, Sookie," he said distantly. I nodded and avoided looking at him.

I was angry at myself for letting this happen. I felt like I had provoked him. I needed to apologize so I headed over to the bar. "Eric, I'm sorry, I've had a few drinks and I didn't mean to. . . ." I said, touching his arm and standing beside him. He looked as if he were calculating a complicated equation in his head. "Me too," he said, suddenly nonchalant, "I got carried away." And, with that, everything seemed righted and we enjoyed a little more dancing, and I even found Tara again, long enough to introduce Eric and catch up a little.

I felt sleepiness overtaking me as we settled into our seats on the train. The rhythmic clacking and the scent of Eric were together so comforting that I couldn't help but lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder. He rested his hand on my shoulder and we sat, breathing in sync, until I succumbed to sleep.

EPOV

I could tell from her breathing that she was asleep. My thumb absentmindedly traced circles on her collarbone, which was more of an attempt to soothe myself. I certainly hadn't been expecting to be so attracted to her when I saw her Wednesday. But it seemed like everything she was doing was turning me on, from the way she climbed into my backseat, to the way she held her fork, to the way she curled her snow white feet under my thigh on the couch. Sure, I'd remembered she was gorgeous in high school, and our French project was always one of my fondest school memories. It's probably the only reason I continued to take French in college. But, she was married to my brother now, for God's sake. It's not like I spent nights awake in bed, thinking of Sookie, who lived hundreds of miles away and spent her nights sleeping with my brother.

I bent forward, closer to her head, and inhaled the smell of her hair - the hair that I had watched my brother stroking and playing with while we watched the game today. She had come into the living room and sat at Bill's feet. I was so distracted by his motions and it was as if I could feel her hair under my own fingers, under my touch. She responded by rolling her neck and leaning into his hand, making it obvious that she enjoyed this very much. I was oblivious to whatever was happening in the game. I was busy trying to wrap my mind around my newfound jealousy. For the very first time in my life I wanted nothing more than to be Bill.

Using just two fingers, I picked up a piece of her hair close to her head and slid my fingers down to the ends. It felt like a satin ribbon and the color was the same as mine. She did not stir, so I did it again, using all my fingertips this time.

After I'd dropped her at the train station this evening, I rejoined Bill on the couch to watch more football. I told him that Pam and I had been seeing a marriage therapist. Bill seemed surprised but instead of prying, he began to drone on about Sookie, complaining that she didn't know how to press shirts properly, she talked too much, bought too many shoes, and always wanted to go out. He even said that she urged him to see a therapist, but he hadn't complied. What a fool my brother was! I began to realize that he truly didn't appreciate her and had sadly grown to take her for granted.

Bill had gone to bed when I heard the familiar text beep coming from down the hall. Initially I ignored it, but when it persisted, I snuck into his room. As I'd suspected, it was Sookie. I rushed upstairs to change and raced to the train station before replying. I hadn't even told Pam I was going. When I laid eyes on her in the Pyramid Club, wearing that short, light blue dress and impossibly high heels, my pulse sped up and I felt like the luckiest man alive. Her dancing only made me want her more. It took every bit of restraint I had to keep some distance between us. But eventually I couldn't stand it and with one hand I pulled her closer. I hadn't meant for us to kiss. I didn't want to cross any lines and cause her to feel awkward around me or, worse yet, fear or resent me.

I was looking out the train window into the darkness when I felt Sookie sliding slightly. Before I knew what happened her head was in my lap. My breath hitched and I stopped breathing for a long while, afraid to move and potentially cause any friction. I was so still that I could feel her hot breath on my inner thigh. I looked down at her hand resting on my knee and a vision flashed in my head of that perfect little hand with its pink polished fingernails wrapped around my cock. My whole body twitched and I felt myself getting hard. She stirred, rubbing her head along my lap and I struggled with my self control. _Shit_ – I could not have her waking up to find her head in my lap and me impossibly hard. I ran my fingers through my hair and avoided touching her.

When our stop came, I managed to wake her while helping her stand, probably obscuring the fact that her head had been in my lap and effectively concealing my arousal until I could pull on my jacket. She was still groggy and so I guided her through the parking lot, my hand around her waist.

After I helped her into the car, she situated herself so that she was angled, slightly looking at me. She was on the cusp of falling asleep again she looked like an angel. I could feel her looking at me as I drove and I promised myself to avoid being alone with her for the rest of their visit. I knew I wouldn't be able to control myself.


	3. Chapter 3

Dear Readers, Thank you for your comments! I am so relieved that I haven't been accosted for my adulterous story (yet!). I guess we all know that as long as it is with Eric, it is o.k.! Really, is there anything we wouldn't do with him?

SPOV

I couldn't take my eyes off Eric as he drove home from the train station. Normally, I'm not so bold, but I was definitely still buzzed, very sleepy, and comfortably warm from the heated seats. I was not going to miss the chance to gawk. The way he drove was so manly. I repressed the urge to moan when he shifted gears as to not seem too immoral.

As if our mutual silence wasn't awkward enough, we both seamlessly slid in to the 'sneaking back into the house' routine. Eric opened and closed the front door painfully slowly and laid his keys down on the table in slow motion. That coupled with my tiptoed walking seemed to be a tacit admission of guilt. But did we really have anything to be guilty for?

"Do you need anything Sookie?" _Oh God_, that question was just too loaded. My heart fluttered as I silently rehearsed possible replies: I _need_ to know what it's like to drive you wild, to see your gorgeous face when you are incoherent with want. I _need_ your long fingers to feel how wet I am for you. I _need_ you to prop me up on the island and fuck me in your kitchen until I scream your name so loud that both of our spouses wake up and come in here to find out what's going on.

"Maybe some Tylenol?" I asked, hoping I wasn't being too difficult. He swiftly produced two white tablets from the downstairs medicine cabinet. He placed them in my upturned palm without looking at me, and proceeded to get me water, too.

"Goodnight," he said plainly and I wanted to cry out in protest. The moment before I replied stretched on eternally - I searched the corners of his mouth for a hint of a mischievous smile buried deeply . . . nothing. I probed his eyes for that twinkle that would reassure me that he'd liked tonight as much as I had . . . nothing. In fact, he looked defeated. Or - even worse - bored. "Goodnight," I said, squelching all my messy feelings and padding down the hall towards the sounds of Bill's snores.

Saturday when I awoke, Bill was gone, I assumed with Eric. I had slept absurdly late. Dragging myself into the kitchen, I greeted Ginger, who was pre-preparing some meals. Pam joined us after awhile and I'm not sure why I was surprised. I wouldn't have expected her to be with the guys. "Morning, Sookie," she said, "Where are the guys?" I sat down at the table with my cereal bowl and said, "I have no idea."

She sat directly across from me and kept looking at me. Did I have a guilty conscience or was this some kind of interrogation technique? I pulled my phone out of my pocket and said, "I'll text Bill." It felt strange to be eating breakfast alone with Pam. Perhaps it was the beefy onion scent wafting through the air during breakfast. I was silently willing Ginger to join us, though I knew it would never happen.

I shot off the text, "Where r u?" and laid down my phone. I had nearly maneuvered a spoonful of soggy cheerios to my mouth when Pam said, "So . . . how was 80s night?" My hand faltered and retuned the spoon to its bowl. I wished more than anything that I could read minds or at least consult a third party as to whether her voice had as much innuendo as I surmised. "It was a hoot!" I said as innocently as possible. _A hoot? What is wrong with me? _ "I got to meet my friend's new beau. He's great. I love 80s music so much." I was rambling, so I decided to stuff my mouth with some cheerios. I had no way of knowing if Eric had told her he'd come to the club. "Ah, so you were the third wheel?" I almost spewed the cheerios across the table, but my attention was diverted to the text beep coming from my phone.

I glanced at the screen to see "Eric" on the message window and my hand quickly moved to cover it. Why was Eric texting me! The message said: racquetball. And that was it. "Racquetball," I said, hoping that news trumped her previous question. I looked back at the other message and realized I'd texted Eric instead of Bill. My early morning stupor texting was worse than any drunk texting.

"What are your plans today Sookie?" she asked. "None, you?" "Shopping, want to come along?" Actually that was the last thing I wanted to do, but I couldn't think of any excuse. "Sure." I answered. I was going to make a comment that I'd hurry up and get ready, but I stopped myself after glancing at her attire. It was again impossible to tell if she was wearing loungewear or dressed to go out so I had no idea if she'd gotten ready or not. I took my time, hoping the guys would get home and maybe rescue me from these plans.

Shopping with Pam was not quite as bad as I'd dreaded. I got a detailed look at how the other half shopped, valet parking in front of boutique after boutique, lapping up constant attention from salespeople who knew Pam by name. She was clearly too good for shopping malls and sale racks. After many purchases by Pam and one measly purchase by me, we headed for the car to return home. Pam said, "Eric's planning on LeClerq's tonight." "Right, I remember," I said.

I dressed for LeClerq's, in a silk and lace cami with a denim mini and a soft leather jacket. When I saw Eric, waiting by the front door with his hands in his pockets, I nearly fainted. I didn't think it was possible for him to look better than he had Friday night. His hair was still damp and he had a slim fitting dress shirt with blue satiny stripes that perfectly matched his eyes and slim trousers that did not hide his magnificent form. It was going to be an interesting night.

LeClerq's was a modern, trendy lounge with expensive drinks, plush furniture and important clientele. The overall vibe was mellow, with no dancing, just conversation. The host greeted Eric by name and led us to an exclusive looking corner grouping with plum velvet upholstered furniture and a marble cocktail table. Bill and I took the chaise and Eric sat in a chair, perpendicular to me, while Pam took the small loveseat facing the door. Bill said, "This place is great. How long has it been open?" "About six months," Eric replied. Just then, a tall, gorgeous redhead with milky skin and emerald eyes strode over to Eric and swiftly bent over, placed her hand on his shoulder and gave him a quick kiss on each cheek. "Eric, so good to see you! I'm glad you're here," she said breathily. Her dress was more like an elongated tube top that barely covered the goods.

I was surprised that Eric hadn't risen to greet her, and I began to watch with interest as she rested her forearm on the back of his chair, and leaned over, strategically placing her cleavage in Eric and Bill's line of sight. "You have company?" she asked, again breathily, which I began to assume was her regular voice. "Yes, my brother Bill and his wife Sookie from Louisiana," Eric gestured to us. "This is Sophie, the owner. We used to work together, until she got all kinds of notions and opened up this place." Eric and Sophie smiled but completely ignored Pam and I couldn't believe my eyes. Pam perused the drink menu as if she hadn't noticed Sophie either, but that would be impossible.

Sophie's face was so close to Eric's that I bet she could feel his breath, and she began talking, "Did you hear about Edgington?" Eric shook his head. "Insider trading," she whispered. Eric looked surprised but I also noticed he looked a little uncomfortable. I kept thinking he'd mention Pam, sitting over there, since she was still his wife, and I was fairly sure he knew she was here. I almost felt sorry for her at that moment. Eric and Sophie continued their conversation briefly until someone at the door yelled, "Pam? There's our girl!" We all turned to see a group of two men and a women. They approached us and Pam stood up to hug each of them. "My gym rats," she confessed to us, "Claude, Hadley, and Andre." Then she introduced Bill and me. I wondered if they knew she'd slept through our gym date. After a few pleasantries about Louisiana and Thanksgiving, they headed off to another area and the four of us ordered some drinks and appetizers.

Awhile later, Pam announced she was going to visit her friends and I decided to turn my attentions to Bill. I was starting my third martini and had drifted out of earshot of my voice of reason. Bill and I were leaning back on the chaise and I situated myself so that I was leaning into him, crossing my leg so that it made contact with his completely and I slowly rubbed his thigh, occasionally dipping my fingers to his inner thigh and squeezing. I wanted to look at Eric so badly my body was humming. I resisted as long as possible, then dragged my eyes up his body until they met his eyes. Eric was watching my hand, like I'd hoped he'd be, his lips parted. I looked at him until his eyes met mine and he licked his lips, then quickly turned his head. Bill continued talking with Eric, completely unfazed, until he excused himself to go to the men's room.

Sometimes Bill's complete lack of jealousy was infuriating. I wondered if he was oblivious or just filled with apathy. Of course he trusted me, because I never gave him reason not to. But sometimes I felt invisible.

Eric seemed nervous, glancing around at everyone else. He moved his arms so that it looked as if he were going to get up. "Sophie is beautiful," I said to Eric. His face was stern and he replied quickly, "Sophie is manipulative and ruthless, and was nearly singlehandedly responsible for my worst year at Morgan's." The anger that accompanied his words frightened me a little. Given this information, I was surprised he'd brought us here. I decided I didn't like angry Eric and I felt partially to blame since this had all started after my forward behavior last night. I wanted to ease his mind – fast, so I blurted, "Eric, I'm sorry about last night, please, I feel badly and I regret the way I acted. I hope I haven't made you upset with me." Eric was silent for a minute then scooted forward until his knee brushed mine and he laid his hand on my leg, "Sookie, I don't want an apology," his voice was raspy, "And I don't want you to regret it."

Eric leaned to my ear and I could feel his breath on my neck. He whispered, "On n'aime que ce qu'on ne possède pas tout entier." (_We love only what we do not wholly possess.) _And he brushed my earlobe with his lips before shifting back to his seat. He had quoted Proust, from our project. His eyes were set on me, he was not smiling, even a little. I swear my heart stopped pumping and my chest stopped breathing. I felt faint for a brief moment, until I drew in a desperate breath. Suddenly there was this aching in my chest and I felt my world being shaken, like a snowglobe picked up by a child. Pam and Bill returned together and we talked about nothing important until it was time to go home.

I could hear Bill and Eric talking in the kitchen. I rested my head on the sofa and realized I was sitting in Eric's spot and it vaguely smelled of him. Bill appeared in front of me and said, "You look tired. Eric and I are going to get a few drinks, we'll be back in awhile." I pulled myself up and tried to look perky, "Oh! I want to come too." Eric appeared in the doorway. "It's just a sports bar, Sookie, nothing but beer and ESPN replays," Eric said, and looked at Bill, "And they won't be open much longer, let's get going." They were out the door remarkably fast and I sunk into the sofa, feeling more dejected than I had for as long as I could remember. He didn't want me to come and I wanted to know why.

When I entered the kitchen Sunday morning, I found Eric, leaning back against the counter, with his ankles crossed, sipping his coffee. "So, are you ready to go back to Louisiana?" He was smiling that flirty smile, which was probably his only smile. "Hmmm," I pretended that I had a choice, "I think I like New York." His eyebrows bounced up, "Mmmm, what parts do you like?" _Oh my God, those questions._ I tamed my response, "I like it all."

I felt pretty low after returning home to Metairie. My vacation was over, and I was back to the reality of my life. I had been highly entertained by Eric over the past few days. His energy was like a drug and I found myself always wanting to be around him. Even after Friday night, when he started to pull away from me a bit, I was intrigued by him. I had no idea how long it would be until I saw him again, but I really hoped it wouldn't be another five years.

I was a zombie, stiff and smelly from the airplane, moving lifelessly from one mundane task to another. I had spent the last few years trying to make this house into a home, but for some reason it never felt right. No matter how many decorating magazines or overpriced accessories I bought, something was off.

As I was unpacking and ushering laundry piles around, I heard Bill's cell phone ring in his office. Since his cell was primarily used for work, I was curious as to who would call on a Sunday evening, so I busied myself as close to the doorway as possible. "No!" Bill said, astonished, and continued, "Oh, no! . . . Man, I'm sorry . . . our timing was awful too. . . ." My mind was reeling, and my eyes met Bill's and I leaned in the doorway and mouthed, "Who?" Bill swished his hand to shoo me away and I gave him a furious look.

How dare he! "Who?" I mouthed again, this time accompanied by my best bitchy face. "Eric," Bill mouthed back and he picked up a pen and began searching for notepaper. The look of concern on my face must have been obvious. Bill was clearly rattled by Eric's news and my heart began beating too fast. I brought my hand to my chest as I pushed an old receipt in front of him. Bill spelled out D-I-V-O-R-C-E, then he underlined the word and tapped the pen for effect and raised his eyebrows when he looked to me. My mouth fell open and I moved my hand to cover it.

I turned around so that I wasn't facing Bill, and took a few steps, but I couldn't move any further. I began smiling criminally big and I felt ashamed of myself. True, my first thoughts were for Eric and how difficult this would be for him. Pam was not exactly easygoing or understanding and Eric, who always prided himself on his achievements, was going to have a hard time dealing with this failure. Besides that, Eric didn't have any family, save for Bill. My ears picked up more of the conversation as Bill continued, "Send me your new address, can I help with anything?"

Bill strode out of his office shaking his head. "I guess we should have seen it coming, but I'm still shocked." "Me too," I said, "Details?" "Pam's going to be getting the house. He moved out today. He's got an apartment in the city." "_Today_?" I repeated, incredulous, "but we woke up there this morning!" "I think it's been a long time coming, Sookie. She is going to take him to the cleaners," he said, dragging out his words and widening his eyes for effect. "So it's a done deal?" I asked. "Papers signed, but not completely official, I guess." "Poor Eric," I said, "Christmas is going to be hard on him, don't you think?"

Bill turned back to the office and busied himself preparing for the work week, but my mind was still reeling. Suddenly, Bill popped his head out again, "Think we should invite him here for Christmas?" My heart sped up and I willed myself not to smile again, "That's a nice idea, Bill, we should." And then I remembered to breathe.

A/N: So this chapter was a bit of a rollercoaster. Hope you're all still holding on. It was difficult to write the reticent Eric. I don't like him! But it'll all make sense soon. Let me know if you'd like to see more EPOV.


	4. Chapter 4

Hi Readers – Just want to answer some pressing questions from last chapter's comments: Sorry for the timeline confusion regarding Eric and Pam's crumbling marriage. Basically, Pam and Eric have been doing the therapy thing for about two years. Eric is trying to open up to Bill, maybe even seeking support, but Bill quickly changes the subject, jumping on the 'complain about your wife' bandwagon. You'll get more info re: the details of the split from EPOV this chapter. It's a lot of backstory, but hopefully isn't all a big yawn.

As for the surname question - I wouldn't dare subject you to Compman or Northton :P so, for now I'll leave it up to the reader's imagination. Though either way it's mighty convenient for Sookie!

I got a few comments saying how naughty Sookie was, and you doubted she would play the adultress role. Remember - with the exception of the dancing & the maybe-kiss, the desperation and temptress vibe is coming solely from the thoughts in Sookie's head. You're privy to her innermost thoughts, but she's not saying those things to Eric. I think he's being more forward with the "What parts do you like?" question, etc. Maybe we've just come to expect this from Eric (guys in general?) but then it's weird coming from a girl. Hmmm. I like Eric's non-porcelain princess Sookie best. And she wants to make herself happy, she just wants what she likes! ;) Very modern, don't you think? Innocence is overrated.

EPOV

I sit at my makeshift desk of cardboard boxes, replaying the conversation I've just had with my brother. I find myself wondering if he told Sookie the news. I hadn't heard her in the background. I want to know what she was doing. I guess I hadn't really wanted Bill to put her on the phone, to save her the awkwardness, but I can't get her out of my thoughts.

My racquetball game with Bill had put me ill at ease about his marriage with Sookie. Bill was bragging about his business trips with female co-workers. Most of the stories consisted of some amazingly hot woman from a partner company, who Bill met at some chic locale like Las Vegas or L.A., and almost always ended up with her having too much to drink and crashing in his room or falling in the hotel pool and needing rescuing or breaking a heel and needing to be carried. Frankly, it was tawdry. It was juvenile, but clearly it was enthralling to Bill. I found myself making a conscious effort to unclench my fists, stop gnashing my teeth and appear amused at his stories to encourage him to continue. If I hadn't been so interested, I would have roughed him up a little and given him the big brotherly "You're acting like an idiot" talk. I would to tell him that he was insane, that Sookie was so fucking fantastic, that he didn't deserve one more minute with her, and that if he wasn't careful she would wise up. But I knew Bill could dig his own grave if left to his own devices, and I had trained myself to have enough patience to let that happen.

Bill's female co-workers reminded me of Sophie. For years we'd worked at the same firm and I'd watched her use her one and only business strategy - her sexuality - to coerce many of my male co-workers into transitioning their best clients to her. Her basic strategy consisted of seducing a man, then blackmailing him with the exposure of his misdeeds and/or some bogus insider trading accusation to get what she wanted. Needless to say, she got what she wanted. I resisted her advances time and again, despite my lack of physical closeness with Pam. It became almost predictable that anytime I stayed working late, she'd be staying later, ordering takeout, producing a bottle of wine, placing her high-heeled foot in my lap. But I didn't sell my soul. Of course I thought her body was attractive, but I had always associated that body with her evil personality and manipulative deeds. I was thankful that women were scarce, and becoming even more scarce, in my field.

My last year working at JP Morgan, however, she decided to use another tactic. She had weaseled her way into my associate Hoyt's bed. Hoyt had told me all the glorious details. I wondered if she took classes for her techniques. But Hoyt was a new analyst and I wasn't sure why she'd targeted him since he really didn't have any desirable clients yet. I should have seen it coming when she followed me out of the office that Friday afternoon and sternly said, "We need to talk." Over whisky at the Pound and Pence, she explained that she would ruin Hoyt's marriage and career if I didn't transition several of my top clients, and several of my team's top clients to her. I don't know whether I'm ashamed or proud to say I gave in to her.

My eyes scan my bare apartment. The exposed brick and beams make it rough and handsome. I only have a few of the surplus items from my house in my new apartment – a sofa from the basement, a table and chairs, a single dresser, and the bed from the downstairs guest room.

My marriage to Pam had long since been over, and I supposed I'd mentally and emotionally felt single for years, yet I still feel lonely here in a one bedroom apartment. I wonder if the transition would have been easier if I hadn't had such good company for the last few days. Pam was really my first girlfriend in college. I hadn't been very confident back then. She was worldly and knew a lot about New York, which I already knew I loved, and that my have spurred some rash decisions on my part. In hindsight, I guess we got married too young and drifted apart all too quickly. In the last few years, the bitterness bubbled over and we argued incessantly. I can't even remember the last time we had sex, but there was no infidelity. On my part, this was probably because I was wrapped up with work.

Pam and I argued for weeks about telling Bill and Sookie about our divorce. She wanted to tell them before they came, but I argued that I didn't want to ruin anyone's holiday and I knew they'd just move to a hotel (or, even worse, fly home) once we told them. I figured Pam was trying to avoid their visit altogether. Eventually I prevailed, arguing that they were my family and it was my decision. I had been looking forward to a little family support.

Exhausted from thinking, I drag myself up and into my new bathroom to shower for bed. Once my damp head hits the bed I exhale in relief. But when I inhale, I am enveloped in Sookie's scent. _Of course, it's the guest bed._ I am ashamed to admit I didn't have time to wash the sheets after returning from the airport before the mover came. I'd just had the whole bed packed up as it was. My heart begins to race and I see her head on my lap and her body pressing against mine as she dances and the feel of her skin. The scent is amazing, it's unlike anything I've ever smelled. I rub my hand over my eyes but my head fills with memories of her again.

The next day, on my walk to work, I receive a call from Bill asking if I'd like to spend Christmas in Louisiana. I almost drop my cell phone but coolly thank him for his offer and tell him I'll think about it. Of course I will go. It did seem like unnecessary torture to spend Christmas alone, especially in New York City, which can seem a bit isolated then. My biggest hesitation was revisiting the town I'd partially grew up in. High school was a low point in my life, I was dealing with the loss of my parents, trying to be strong for my younger brother, and neglecting myself – my grades, my friendships . . . and dating was nonexistent for me. Which is not to say I wasn't interested in girls at school – namely, one blond, gorgeous girl in my French class. But I tortured myself with introversion instead of trying to win her. And then I had to watch my brother make her happy, night after night: kisses, dates, holding hands. I did not want to see faces from my past while I was fresh from this new failure in my life.

When I get to my office I check for flights. I book the first one I see, for a ten day stay. I had accrued plenty of vacation time, and I might as well enjoy it. By the end of the week, I text Bill to let him know my itinerary and I decide to call Bill and Sookie's home number, in hopes of reaching Sookie. "Hello?" her voice is so sweet. "Hi Sookie, it's Eric." "Oh Eric," her voice immediately becomes sad and I don't want it to, "I'm so sorry to hear about Pam and you. And I feel so badly about our timing for Thanksgiving, it must have been so stressful to have company in the midst of something so difficult. . . ." "Sookie, please don't apologize, I wanted you guys to come up and I didn't want to ruin your Thanksgiving with our problems. Our marriage has been over for a long time now, we're just coming to terms with it."

"It must be hard for you," the sweetness creeps back into her voice, but I don't want her pity, "The logistics are going to be difficult, but emotionally I'm o.k. . . . better, actually . . . I was calling because, I don't know if Bill's told you yet, but I'm coming down for Christmas." "Oh! That's great Eric, I can't wait to see you!" I love that she's just said this. I'm smiling like crazy, and I say, "Me too . . . what can I bring?" "Um . . . nothing . . . just bring you," she says. I close my eyes and inhale. I tell her I'll email her my itinerary and that we'll talk soon.

I hang up, grab my bag, and head out of the building. I've got some Christmas shopping to do. I know I should buy something domestic that is appropriate for both of them, but I cannot resist the chance to give something to just Sookie. I stroll into Saks and head for the scarf section. For some reason, I want something lavender. Sookie reminds me of the color lavender but I cannot find any good lavender scarves. I stroll past clutches and jewelry but nothing catches my eye. I'm ready to move onto another store when I see the perfume counters. Maybe I can find her scent here. I just want to smell it once, maybe buy a sample for myself, for when I finally have to wash my sheets. I pick up an elegant ovoid bottle, but it's not even close. I move onto a square Chanel bottle, spritzing it onto the white card stock. I move like this from bottle to bottle, leaving a trail of little white papers behind me, none of them matching her scent. I am pulled out of my madness as a salesgirl approaches me, "Sir, may I help you find something? A gift perhaps?" I just shake my head, barely making eye contact, and continue my hunt, stopping at the coffee beans every so often to keep my sense accurate. I quicken my pace, picking up a bottle with each hand, slamming them down sometimes so fast that they fall over. _Why are there so many different perfumes?_ When I reach the edge of the last counter, I run my fingers through my hair, tugging slightly in frustration. I briefly contemplate smelling each bottle again. I look around to see if anyone has noticed my lunacy, and clearly a few people have, so I turn and stride out of the store.

The next two weeks pass and I still haven't washed my sheets. I'm running the risk of showing up in Louisiana with a bad rash, but I don't care. My flight is in two days and I'm buzzing with anticipation. My phone beeps and I find a reply to my email itinerary I'd sent Sookie:

_So how is New York's most eligible bachelor spending this weekend? I picked up all the basic toilet items so you'd have less to pack. Are there any foods you can't live without? Bill won't be back from L.A. until the day after you arrive, so I'll pick you up at the airport. See you then!_

My blissful anticipation from the last few weeks came to a screeching halt. Was she saying that we'd be alone in the house the first night? All of my insecurities floated to the surface and I was feeling . . . nervous.


	5. Chapter 5

Sookie's maddening scent can be found at Lush stores. It's called 'It's Raining Men' and is a limited edition shower gel/shampoo with notes of honey, tiger lily, lotus, and orange blossom (I know, I know - how can a shower gel be strong enough to linger on sheets? It _is_ potent for a shower gel, but, hey, this is fiction after all!)

SPOV

The time between Thanksgiving and Christmas stretched on forever. I was completely preoccupied with thoughts of newly-divorced Eric's impending visit and was much more smiley and giddy than I should have been.

I was relieved when I spoke to Eric on the phone. He sounded okay, not like he'd been crying for a week, anyway. The sister-in-law in me wanted to give him a hug and cook him some comfort food. But the vixen in me wanted to console him a different way - multiple times.

After I hung up and caught my breath, I called Bill, who was in Miami on a business trip. I didn't mind that he often tacked on an extra day to his trips after he explained how fatiguing repeated airplane travel was. This particular Friday was one of those days; he had meetings until late Thursday, so elected to take a Friday afternoon flight home instead of arriving very late Thursday. I figured it didn't make much difference to me since I was at work Friday anyway. Bill sounded groggy on the phone and told me he'd slept in. I figured he'd been out late drinking with co-workers the night before. It was part of the job for him. I told him about Eric's call and how he sounded fine and I was in the middle of telling him my idea that we take Eric to New Orleans for a big New Year's Eve party when I heard the woman's voice.

I stopped abruptly. "Bill?" I led. "That sounds great Sookie. Go ahead and make the plans-" He was covering but I could still hear her talking! "Bill, who's there?" My voice was cross but calm. "Oh, Lorena's here, she's got the adjoining room." Lorena was Bill's co-worker, who happened to be divorced, and they often shared meetings. I'd met her twice and concluded that although she was very polished on the outside, she was pretty crude on the inside. I did not enjoy hearing that they had adjoining rooms.

So I was faced with the decision of whether to interrogate Bill about how long she'd been in the room, what they'd done the night before, and what the both of them happened to be wearing at that moment, or to allow Bill to save face in front of her and keep my cool by avoiding all the jealous accusations. I chose the high road, muttering something generic to Bill and feeling agitated the rest of my day. I told myself that if they'd been having an affair, she would have at least had the sense to keep quiet. It was strange how I didn't feel enraged or upset, but instead I felt burned by my own stupidity. It was the kind of feeling when I went about shaking my head incredulously, wondering how I got here, and that I should've seen it coming.

The evening Eric was due to arrive I changed my dress three times before deciding on a simple floral with a pink cardigan. I was late arriving at the airport, and Eric's flight had already landed. Maybe I was being crazy but I didn't want to just wait in my car at the terminal, so I parked and went inside to look for him. As I approached the baggage claim carousel from JFK, I stopped to scan the crowd. I probably looked like a crazy person, but I was smiling to myself. I couldn't suppress the butterflies in my stomach and I was in love with that feeling. My eyes settled on him, his back to me, in a black corduroy blazer with matching boots and dark jeans, waiting for his bag.

I contemplated how to greet him when, as if on cue, he turned around and looked right at me. He beamed and opened his arms and I picked up my pace and met his embrace. "Sookie," was all he said. He was so strong and he smelled so good that I resisted breaking away just a few more seconds. When I did I asked, "How was your trip?" "It was great, I'm glad to be here." I smiled, "I hope you're hungry, I've been cooking." "I'm very hungry," he said, and his eyes held mine, undoubtedly taking in my blush, before he diverted his attention to the bags.

The ride home was short, and we talked about his new apartment, my work, and light topics. I noticed he didn't mention Bill. And neither did I. I showed him the guest room and he settled in for a few moments while I served up my specialty. "I know New York has everything, but I bet you can't get crawfish etouffee like this easily," I said, pouring his wine as he sat. "New York doesn't have _everything_," he said, "This smells amazing. Thank you Sookie."

After dinner we both lingered at the table. He accepted my offers of wine refills, so I kept our glasses full. "Eric, Je t'ecoute . . . si tu veux parler. . . ." (I'm listening to you if you want to talk) Suddenly, Eric looked pained, he swallowed forcibly and his eyes seemed nervous. "Are you doing okay?" I led. He took a sip of wine and said, "You know what's scary? I'm doing fine. I'm actually better than fine. Sure, I'm mad that I wasted that part of my life, and the failure of it stings a bit, but it's like I suddenly have this global view where I can see how unhappiness took root, probably right after we got married."

"Don't think of it as a waste . . . without that experience, you wouldn't get the exciting new beginning, right?" If I had been talking to anyone else I knew about a divorce, I would have asked about dating again as a silver lining to the black cloud, but somehow I couldn't do it. I didn't want to hear that Eric probably was already dating. Why wouldn't he be? He probably couldn't keep women away.

Eric smiled at my comment, "A 'new beginning'? I like that. I am going to turn this around. Life is truly too short to be unhappy, and so many people are unhappy. I am going to make up for that lost time."

"So, can I ask you a question?" I said. "Of course," he said quickly. "What was Pam's reaction?" Eric was unfazed by my rather personal question, "Pam didn't have much of a reaction. She didn't cry or mope or yell - she just didn't react. I guess that sort of sealed it for me. I couldn't believe how little it affected her." Now I was curious, "Was there infidelity?" "No," he answered. I continued, "How did you know it was really over?" Eric looked troubled and he was obviously carefully forming his answer.

"Sookie, I don't want to spoil your innocence with the sad, shocking truths about my marriage. You have a . . . nice marriage and I could make your head spin with some of my tales. You don't want to know. Suffice it to say I pieced it together after she repeatedly returned gifts I'd get her, we started partitioning the house into areas each other was forbidden to enter, and sleeping in separate rooms because I can't even remember the last time we had sex."

Maybe my heart was breaking for Eric's pain, but more likely it was his statement about my 'innocence' and 'nice marriage' that caused me to crumble. My mind flashed to a vision I'd conjured of Bill and Lorena in some hotel in Miami. I could feel my face heat up and my mouth begin to frown the second before a tear fell. Eric swiftly stood up and was next to my chair instantly. He placed his hands on my shoulders and crouched down so that his face was inches from mine. "What's this?" he asked, his brow wrinkled. His kindness overwhelmed me and my tears continued.

When I didn't answer him, his concern became more evident. His eyes searched my face, and he pulled my head to his shoulder and began to stroke my hair. My eyes closed and I felt better immediately. I found myself wondering if I could cry on cue if it would always result in this type of consoling. When my sobs slowed and I still didn't speak, I think Eric realized I didn't want to convey what I was feeling right then. "Ah, I know, you're crying tears of pity for my sex life. It's true, it's _very_ sad. . . ." I began to laugh and pulled back to look at him as he continued his joke, "But it's just like riding a bike, you know, don't worry about me." He brushed his thumb over my lips, "There's your smile. Much better."

Reluctantly, I stood up to clear the table, and Eric began to help with the welcome diversion. "Let's watch a film," he suggested, "a comedy." Eric chose a DVD and stretched out on the couch. I settled next to him, curling my legs under me and slightly to the side. I felt comfortable and even privileged at the promise of sitting so close to Eric for the duration of a film. Just then, he reached his hand under my knees and swept my legs out across his lap, bending my knees slightly, and he began to rub my feet. My leg relaxed against his chest as his fingertips began unwinding me.

I couldn't focus on the movie. I was so happy to be right there. I wanted to spend the rest of my life on that couch with Eric, feeling his touch and warmth and inhaling his scent. But I knew that wasn't my life. It wasn't my fate, and this would be a one-time feeling, which made me so sad. Evidently he noticed I wasn't paying attention to the movie, and he turned to me gave me a strange look. I was trying to guess what was going through his mind when he said, "Sookie, can I ask you something?" I nodded and he continued, "Earlier, why did you cry?"

_Oh no. I'm not ready for this conversation. _ I think my mouth dropped open as the words refused to come out. I had to come up with something honest to say that wouldn't make me cry. "Um . . . I think that your divorce was very close to home for me, I mean, I've never been close to anyone who has gone through a divorce before . . . and you and Bill are so alike I guess it felt a little like it was happening to me. Or at least I imagined for the first time what it would be like if it happened to me." Ok, so it wasn't untrue, exactly, but it really wasn't why I broke down. Eric scrunched his brow in thought. He looked like he was going to call 'bullshit'. Instead he said, "You think Bill and I are alike?" with a snarky smile.

I had to laugh, "Well . . . ok, no, not really I guess." "Sookie," he was effectually calling 'bullshit' with that one word. I took a deep breath and kept my eyes on his. I was going to do it, I was going to just confide in Eric. I felt close to him and I knew he wouldn't judge me. As I started to speak, I lowered my gaze to nothing in particular, "I think that we sometimes go through marriage with blinders on. We shield ourselves from seeing things that don't fit with the picture perfect life." I was gesticulating and pouring emotion into my explanation and I felt my face heat up and the familiar wetness in my eyes. "Then, once in awhile, something or someone rips those blinders off for a second and you look around and what you see is . . . just awful . . . things from the past, the present . . . but you don't know what to do to make it better, so you just try to find the blinders again." Eric reached under my chin and tilted my head so that I had to look at him. He was so close to my face. His hand moved to my cheek and he said, "You don't have to do that . . . and I'll help you make it better."

The tears were pouring down my face like rain. His warm hand wiped some away and then his arms pulled me to him. I rested my head on his shoulder for the second time that evening and I began to feel so ridiculous. I straightened up and pushed myself back to my own couch cushion. "Eric, I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm so sorry for being so completely selfish. You're here in the midst of maybe the most difficult time in your life and I'm dumping _my_ problems on _you_. Let's just forget what I said, ok? You don't need this right now – or ever." I stood up and started righting the pillows on the couch. "Sit down, Sookie," he said in a serious, low voice, and I complied. "Let me decide what I need, ok? Right now I know it really bothers me to see you so upset. Now, tell me."

"I don't know. It's nothing . . . but it's everything. I don't want to air my dirty laundry, Eric. You said I have a 'nice marriage' but sometimes I don't feel that way." Slowly, I began to tell him about Lorena and about how distant Bill could be and the ways he treated me like an annoyance. Eric was a good listener, but he didn't say much. At first I was worried he was making mental notes to relay my comments to Bill. Then I worried he thought I was being whiny. Eric had real incompatibility problems in his marriage and I was droning on about the way Bill spoke to me. I began to feel petty and was about to get ready to go to bed when Eric said something that surprised me, "I think you should trust your feelings. You deserve to be really, truly and completely happy. You are a magnificent woman, so beautiful, intelligent and full of life. I think that Bill doesn't appreciate what he has."

My heart was beating fast and suddenly my body reacted in the most unexpected way – a yawn. He yawned too and we couldn't help but laugh a little. He stretched himself back into the couch, with his head on the armrest, "We'll figure it out together, ok? But not tonight." He motioned for me to occupy the space between his long legs and I curled into him, placed my hand on his chest, closed my eyes, and listened to him breathe.


	6. Chapter 6

SPOV

Christmas Eve morning I woke up to the feel of Eric's breathing and his long arm holding my body to his. I was riding the swell of his breaths, enveloped in his warmth when I noticed sunlight was streaming in my living room windows. Bill was coming home! I quickly moved my head so that I could see Eric's face as I spoke, "Hey." I began to stroke his cornsilk hair. "We should get up. Are you hungry?" Eric tightened his grip on me and gave a slow, deep moaning sound. He was clearly in that dangerous state between sleep and complete wakefulness. I shifted myself about a bit, hoping to awaken him. "Stay," he grunted. I was going to remind him Bill would be walking in any moment but I didn't want to insinuate we were doing anything bad. Why was I thinking about doing something bad with Eric? I gathered my strength and pulled myself from him. "Come on, sleepyhead, what do you want for breakfast?" Bill was home in time to share breakfast. He and Eric were out most of the day, probably scrambling to accomplish Bill's typical last minute Christmas shopping.

Christmas day went by quickly with so many tasks in the kitchen. Bill went to sleep early and I found myself taking advantage of Eric … or, at least Eric's helpful nature in the kitchen. "Sookie, everything was delicious. Thank you for dinner – the best Christmas I can remember in a long while." His kind words stopped me in my tracks and I smiled at him, "Me too." I was learning that a little wine opened Eric up as he talked more about Pam while we washed, dried, and put away.

The day after Christmas, we drove to Biloxi for a day of gambling. I wrapped the lavender Burberry scarf Eric gave me around my neck. I got a heady whiff of Eric, and gave thanks for the time this lovely scarf spent mingling with the other things in his suitcase. As I gathered my things, Eric brushed past me toward the front door and he turned to tug twice on the end of the scarf playfully.

Gambling was another favorite competitive sport of Bill and Eric's. I could only hope one of them would have the sense to call it quits before they started accruing serious debt. After tagging behind them for a few tables like a lost puppy, I touched Bill's arm and told him I was going to do some shopping. Eric looked back over his shoulder at me and I swore his eyes were filled with a look of longing as if he wanted me to stay with them. I contemplated it, but decided I needed to get away to think.

I roamed mindlessly from boutique to boutique. I've engaged in retail therapy plenty of times, but somehow this time I knew there was nothing I could buy that would make me feel good. I replayed scenes from high school starring Eric, and sometimes Bill, and eventually found myself in a serious state of self pity, wishing 17-year-old me had had the guts to start something with Eric and, more than anything, wishing I had ended up with Eric. It occurred to me that I would probably regret it for the rest of my life. Determined not to cry, I tried to explain the past to myself . . . I guess he seemed so much older, unattainable, and coolly aloof all the time that I never thought I could be his girlfriend. But the night we'd just spent on the couch proved that we would've been great together.

When I met Bill and Eric for dinner at the hotel's steakhouse, I could feel the tension between them. My eyes moved from Bill to Eric, scanning for clues, as they made small talk. Both of them had been drinking, probably steadily all afternoon. Bill looked angry and Eric looked passively glazed over, as if he were wishing he were somewhere else. Hopefully this night would end quickly.

"There's something we need to talk about, Sookie," Bill used his attempted authoritative voice with me and he had my attention immediately, "I know you're going to be upset . . . but I have a meeting New Year's Eve in Boston. . . ." My rage began to show on my face, "Bill, it's _New Year's_! We have company here – _your_ brother – and we have plans! Can't you find someone else to do it?" "Sookie, it's not that simple. I don't have the luxury of traditional holidays in my career. My scheduling is at the mercy of each client. New Year's Eve isn't a holiday at most companies." I scoffed. I'd seen him manipulate meetings for much less; he had plenty of leeway. I briefly contemplated asking if Lorena was attending the meeting also and if she had New Year's plans.

I looked over at Eric, who was carefully watching our exchange. "Eric and you can still go," Bill eased, looking to Eric for approval. "Go where?" Eric asked absently. Bill rolled his eyes to show Eric how irritated he was with the situation. "Sookie made plans for us to go to New Orleans for a big New Year's Eve party, she's got a dress, a hotel for the night, and the whole works, but I have to go to Boston." I swear Bill got off on his imagined feeling of being so indispensable at work. Eric smiled and looked at me, "Of course we'll still go. I'd love to be your _date_. Tu souviens que je suis un bon danceur?" (You remember that I'm a good dancer?) I held my breath for a second – Eric had moxie to use the word "date" and speak to me in French in front of Bill in the same breath. I looked to Bill for a reaction . . . nothing, of course. I smiled at Eric to concede and try to hide my embarrassment and noticed the look Bill gave Eric, tacitly thanking him for the favor of agreeing to something so unpleasant.

We remained silent while we ate. My anger was consuming me. Bill made me feel so lowly, as if he had to call in a favor for someone to keep my company! What kind of husband arranges a date for his wife anyway? I would have been giddy at the idea of a 'date' with Eric, but Bill had to embarrass me with his conjecture of the 'pity date'.

We settled into the car at about 9:30 and I assumed my role as the designated driver. The ride home would be about ninety minutes and Bill was asleep about ten minutes into the monotonous interstate scenery. When I stopped for gas I noticed Eric was still awake in the back seat. "Do you want anything inside?" I asked him quietly. He was staring into the distance, and just shook his head 'no'. When I approached the car again, I saw Eric had pumped the gas. He seemed to be _very_ drunk.

Back on the road, I was sipping the iced tea (which could have actually been dishwater) through a straw when I felt Eric's warm breath on my neck. A moment later the essence of whiskey hit my nose. Whoa! I looked in the rearview but his head was tilted down and all I saw was a golden head of hair. He had leaned forward to my right side, between Bill and me. As his hand grasped my right wrist, I nearly dropped my drink in my lap. He waited, wordlessly, for me to calm down. I adjusted my attention to the road briefly and set my tea in the cup holder before I felt his face brushing against my neck. Then, Eric began to nuzzle me in the most sensual way imaginable . . . while Bill slept two feet away. And – oh, Dear God – it felt amazing. I felt his nose, his lips, his cheeks, graze and then press into my neck and ear and the sound of it was deafening. His lips pressed kisses into my neck and I felt his tongue and teeth searing my skin. His lips moved up to my ear and whispered, "Sookie," in a throaty, whiskey soaked voice.

I knew he was drunk. I knew I should brush him off, and offer him some Tylenol from my purse and a sip of dishwater tea, but I couldn't move and I couldn't speak. I have no idea how the car continued to operate without a collision. My mouth was hanging open and my panting breath dried my lips. I reached up to stroke his cheek with my right hand. It took all my control to keep my head facing forward. I felt Eric backing down slowly. His lips found my ear again and he said, "How long will it be until we're alone?"

If I had wanted to do the math and give him an answer, I couldn't. I was dizzy and throbbing and so I said nothing. Eric retreated to the backseat without ever looking at me. Once I regained control of my body and turned to look back at him, his eyes were closed.

EPOV

I awoke in the guest bed. I vaguely remembered Sookie escorting me to the guest room last night and helping me to bed. I looked down to see I was wearing just trousers. I dragged my hand over my face, my pounding head filling with images of Sookie unbuttoning my shirt.

I was finding it increasingly difficult to be a passive part of this triangle. I wanted Sookie. Badly. And not just to satisfy my primal desire for her, I wanted it all – making breakfast with her, taking her shopping, road trips, and more things that I wasn't ready to admit yet.

Spending the day gambling with my asshole brother and no Sookie had been trying. My curiosity piqued when Bill's mobile rang and he turned away from me to have his conversation. Casinos are noisy places, and Bill was doing his best to conceal what he said, but I heard enough to know he was trying to calm down a woman who was not Sookie. He was telling her not to cry and he mentioned New Year's Eve.

When he hung up and walked back to the table, he looked stressed. "Work?" I asked him, hoping the disgust showed in my eyes. "Yes, relentless," he said cryptically. I debated giving him an ultimatum right there to make him confess to Sookie. She didn't deserve to be lied to or cheated on and I was fairly confident I could strong-arm him into doing anything. Bill was such a pig. But I knew enough about Sookie to know that she'd be absolutely devastated by his confession, even if she already suspected something. I wanted to protect her and I was selfish enough to not want the rest of my time here to be filled with her sadness. Plus I didn't have evidence solid enough; parts of an overheard conversation could easily be explained away by someone as deceptive as Bill. I brooded the rest of the day away, drink by drink, hoping to erase my memory.

By the time we met Sookie for dinner, I'm sure I looked as surly as I felt. She greeted Bill with a kiss and a smile and I felt sick. I briefly thought about flying home early just to get away from this. But I knew I didn't want to leave her. We settled into a horseshoe-shaped booth with Sookie seated in between Bill and me. Her leg was nonchalantly touching mine under the table and I was drowning in the scent of her. I felt myself harden as I imagined my hand running along her bare leg, bent next to my side as she lay underneath me and I had to bring my hand up to the table to avoid touching her.

I was so busy talking myself down that I didn't realize their heated conversation. I quickly realized that Bill was leaving Sookie and me to ourselves for New Year's Eve. Ah, the mobile conversation from earlier, she must live in Boston. What a dick. Of course Sookie had planned a party, with a hotel and a party dress. She's a sweet, beautiful girl and that's what sweet, beautiful girls do. I made her blush when I called it a date and conjured up memories of the last time we'd danced together. At least I knew the rest of my time in Louisiana wouldn't be as bad as today.

SPOV

When I awoke New Year's Eve, Bill had already left. I checked the kitchen for a note, but there was nothing. I didn't feel like breakfast, so I went back to my bedroom to pack an overnight bag. It was nearly noon when my stomach growled and I decided to make some crepes. I heard Eric approach the kitchen, "Morning, sunshine!" I said instantly. But when I looked up, Eric did not look like sunshine. He looked awful as he managed to match my greeting. I was suddenly hit with disappointment. "Oh, Eric, I didn't even think! You're not going to want to go to New Orleans today. Oh no!" Eric came over to me and took my hands sweetly. "I'll be ok very soon. I just need some food and some Tylenol." "I was making crepes. How about something savory instead of sweet for that headache?" I proceeded to fill a few crepes with some mushrooms, spinach, and onions, which seemed to please Eric very much.

I sat beside him as he ate and I suddenly realized that this was the best morning I'd had in years. In a few days, he was going back to New York, to his bachelor apartment and date-packed weekends. And I would be here with Bill - or without Bill if he was out-of-town - I wasn't sure which was worse. The idea made me sad and hopeless, as if my life was over but I had to keep living it. If there had been a bottle of Prozac on the table, I would have taken the whole thing. I felt Eric touch my shoulder, "You ok?" he said gently. I smiled, "I'm ok. We are going to have a good day. I love New Year's." I got happy, not because I couldn't talk to Eric, but because I didn't _want_ to talk about Bill. I just wanted to enjoy this now. We made quick work of the dishes together and he headed upstairs to get ready.

I was still sitting at the kitchen table staring at the floor when Eric announced, "I'm clean and packed . . . and starting to feel human again." He drove my car to the French Quarter and we arrived at the hotel late afternoon. I'd be lying if I said it didn't feel strange – checking into a hotel with my brother in law, wondering if there'd be one bed or two, and completely loving the feeling of being alone with him.

Neither of us spoke as we rode the elevator and found our door. Eric inserted his keycard and held the door for me, but I didn't get to see the entire room. All at once I heard the thud of his bag hit the floor and the loud click of the door closing hard. I felt his hand grasp mine, pull me back to him and spin me so that I was backed against the door. He was a blur as his mouth covered mine and his hands held my face to his. My eyes closed and my heart started pounding, partially because I knew this was wrong, but also in anticipation. My hand released my bag to the floor with a thump and I parted my lips to taste Eric. I may have moaned as he pressed his body into mine. I curled my leg up around his and I felt his hand stroke my thigh.

Suddenly that feeling I'd had at LeClerq's where my snowglobe was being shaken just started to resemble an avalanche. I reclaimed my leg and gently pushed back against his chest as he pulled his lips from mine. I will never forget his eyes at that moment – black and needy, scorned and lovesick, lusty and hungry. He cleared his throat and I hoped he'd speak but he just kept his eyes fixed on mine. "Wow, I. . . ." I swallowed hard and futilely attempted to gain control of my breathing. "I . . . think we should talk." Eric nodded and made an 'after you' gesture to coax me into the room. I sat at the desk chair, careful to avoid the bed. I was glad he didn't apologize for the kiss. Frankly, it was the most sensual moment of my whole life. But the devil on my shoulder wasn't strong enough to overpower the angel.

I felt the responsibility to start the conversation since I had slammed on the brakes. I looked up at him, standing in the middle of the room, his chest still heaving. "Eric, I think you know I didn't not want that. It was . . . yeah . . . I think you know." I began to get excited, eager to convey some kind of point, and I raised my voice, "But I'm married to your brother! I can't do that to him – or you. No matter how carnal this is for you, it could never be just that . . . because of who we are." I noticed Eric scrunching his eyebrows together, "My words aren't making any sense because the jumbled up thoughts in my head don't make sense either. I'm so confused by how I feel around you. Why am I so drawn to you?"

"Carnal? Sookie, this isn't Animal Planet! I had to laugh. He walked over to me and pulled me up from the chair by my hands until I was close enough to feel his breath. And then he spoke, "Sookie, I want you to be mine." I felt a rush of heat, but I didn't know how to respond. Technically, I wasn't available to be anyone's, except Bill's, but obviously Eric knew this. Did I want to be Eric's? In my mind and in my heart at that moment I knew I did, more than anything. But I couldn't speak; I was too rattled, my chest was still heaving and I felt a little dizzy. I felt like there was a spotlight on me and I was being asked to sell my soul. "Sookie, do you understand me? This isn't just impulsive behavior. Do you want to be mine?"


	7. Chapter 7

SPOV

"Eric, I. . . ." Truthfully, I didn't know what to say. My mind tried in vain to imagine a world where Eric and I were happy together. Even if Bill walked away from our marriage quietly, I knew I would always be the source of strife between them. I couldn't imagine the guilt I'd feel knowing I drove a wedge between two brothers who were effectively each other's entire families. How could Eric not grow to resent me for that?

The high-pitched ring of Eric's mobile diffused the suspense. He pulled it out and glanced at the screen, "Attorney," he muttered. He reluctantly turned away and answered it. I needed to use this time to think, but I was distracted by Eric's reaction as he listened. His eyes widened and he began breathing deeply. I noticed he was gripping the phone very tightly. He began to ask questions with figures involved and I felt rude listening in. I snuck into the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub to gather my thoughts. As I stared at my feet I knew I didn't want to reject Eric. I wasn't sure I could even bring myself to physically do it. But how could I be his? I slipped into my thin red satin dress and primped my hair and makeup.

Eric knocked softly and pushed the door open all at once. His face showed his defeat and he spoke quietly, "I'm sorry for the interruption. Negotiations have gone from bad to worse with Pam. Her stellar attorney, who I'm paying, has found a loophole nullifying our prenup, which protected my half of the inheritance from our dad." "Oh no!" I said. This was certainly bad news for Eric. "And because the prenup is now invalid, she'll demand – and likely get - whatever she wants." I rose and walked over to him and started to rub his back. "I'm sorry. I can't imagine how hard this is. I wish I could help. Can we still go have a good time tonight?" "Of course. Sookie, you are so beautiful. My favorite color." As I waited for him to dress, I would have thought I'd been relieved that Eric didn't revisit his question from before the call. But I found myself a little disappointed. Still, it was hard to be sully when faced with an evening beside Eric in a tuxedo.

The ballroom was elegantly French, with crystal chandeliers and ornate gold mouldings. We found our way to a table that was half full, downed some champagne, and deposited our things. We made our way to the dance floor and shared the steamiest dance a party with that level of civility would allow.

As we walked back to the table, grabbing a couple more drinks, I ran into my old friend from college, Amelia. She was with her boyfriend, Tray. We'd been out of touch since before I'd married Bill, so thankfully I didn't have an awkward moment of explanation. "Eric, this is Amelia, my dearest friend from college, who I haven't seen in entirely too long. Amelia, this is Eric. He's my. . . ." I looked at Eric and smiled, "What are you, exactly?" Eric's eyes never left mine. He cocked his head a little and said, "I'm the love of her life." And all the breath left my lungs and I chuckled because I knew it was the appropriate response to his jest, but inside I knew it was the truest statement ever made.

The midnight countdown was upon us, and I'd donned a ridiculous glittery cardboard tiara. I joined the backward counting chorus, champagne in hand. Midway, I looked to Eric, who wasn't counting, but was intently staring at me as if none of the people, the place, or the things around us existed. His gaze consumed me and my counting trailed off. His hands were quickly on my face and he bent down to kiss me as he crowd continued, "Five! Four! Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!"

As we walked the hall back to our hotel room, I finally succumbed to my impractical footwear, sliding the sparkly slingbacks off my feet. Eric stopped and turned back to me when he noticed I wasn't next to him. "Why didn't you tell me your feet hurt?" he asked with a wide smile and in a second he'd scooped me into his arms and I was gliding and giggling. He deposited me onto the couch, bringing my feet onto his lap, and he began the most amazing foot massage I have ever felt.

"Mmmm," my eyelids we getting heavy and I wasn't moaning intentionally, but I felt his body twitch with my sound. I made a mental note to keep my pleasurable sounds in my head and reached for the remote, directing my attention to the TV. After awhile, his fingers stopped and he bent my leg, placing my foot on his lap as he moved to the other foot. I dragged my foot back towards me to be more comfortable and I came in contact with a very large, hardened part of Eric's body. My mouth fell open and my chest heaved a bit. He turned to me and I looked into his eyes to see uninhibited lust.

I moved my foot gently up and down his hardness and he exhaled forcefully, closing his eyes for a moment. He stopped rubbing my feet and his darkened eyes bored into mine again. His hand found mine and he pulled me toward him. Involuntarily, I straddled him, and I have no idea how I refrained from lowering myself onto his lap. My hands framed his face and I noticed he wasn't blinking. He rested his warm hands on my hips. I blinked slowly and bit my lip in a futile attempt to regain my control.

I felt a rush and I couldn't speak; I was too rattled, my chest was still heaving and I felt a little dizzy. My open mouth met his and my body ignited. I was lost in the heat and the feeling of his tongue moving with mine and I felt his hands push my hips down onto him. I broke our kiss and moaned in a deep breathy voice that surprised my ears. His hands moved up and down my sides, to my breasts, then down to my bottom. I felt his fingers under the hem of my dress, slowly tracing the edge of my panties. "Sookie, I want to touch you."

"Eric, I can't. This is wrong." He stopped immediately and looked into my eyes. He said calmly, "No. This may be the only thing that's ever been right." He was confident, but he wasn't trying to change my mind. He exhaled his frustration audibly and I climbed off of him and curled into his side. "You don't want to be with a girl who cheats on her husband," I said honestly, "You deserve better." It was probably the single most difficult thing I've ever had to say or do. It didn't feel virtuous or righteous. It felt horrible. I felt deprived.

Eric didn't say much the rest of the night. We tacitly decided to share a bed, and I curled into his side, while he encircled me with his arm. It felt warm and right.

The next morning Eric asked if I'd bring him to the airport so he could head home a day early to meet with his attorney. I was beyond disappointed, but tried to hide it the best I could. I kissed him goodbye at the terminal and the tears began to fall as soon as I turned to walk away.

More than a month passed and I hadn't heard a word from Eric. I thought of him every day, unfailingly after waking and before falling asleep. Sadly, the scarf he'd given me had lost the smell of him.

I was driving home from work one Monday afternoon in February, in no hurry because Bill was in Seattle, when my cell phone rang. I fumbled around for it too long and glanced at a missed call message from Eric. My heart bounced a little and I thought about phoning him right back, but I just didn't have the will. What might've been with Eric was just too sad to deal with and I was training myself to avoid thoughts of him more and more.

By the time I'd reached my empty house, I heard the voicemail alert. I wanted to play it, just to hear his voice. But I knew I'd be burying myself further in depression and I just wanted to have a tear-free evening. I was hiding from all of it and hoping it would just go away. But I knew even if that happened I wouldn't be okay.

About 10pm, I decided to call him. "Sookie," he answered, and my tears started almost immediately. "Eric, hi. I'm sorry I missed – " But he interrupted, "I want you to come to New York. I'll take care of everything, there won't be any . . . evidence. Just pack a bag and show up at the airport. When does Bill leave next?" My heart was racing. He missed me. I wanted to go.

So it was settled. Bill was leaving for Houston Monday morning and would be gone until Thursday evening. I would have just about three short days in New York with Eric but the prospect felt like three eternities. My request for personal time off from work was approved quickly.

Sunday evening after Bill went to sleep, I silently packed a small roll-on suitcase and carried it out to my trunk. It felt so corrupt. I had to remind myself I wasn't doing anything illegal. My palms were sweaty and my mind raced all night so that I couldn't sleep. I feigned sleep when Bill arose and stumbled around getting ready. When I heard his car engine fade into the distance, I jumped out of bed. I had to go into work for a half day Monday and my flight was at 2:20. I danced my way around the house as I got ready.

EPOV

She didn't come.

I drove home from the airport in a trance. I needed a drink to numb this pain. All the far-reaching implications of her absence and what it meant for my future happiness were a dull ache. The sharp pain was the realization that I wasn't going to see her smile or smell her perfume or feel her warm body today. When I walked to the door of my building, there was an older woman pacing there nervously. She had silvery hair and was very well kept, but she looked lost. Normally I would have politely tried to help her, but this day I was having too much trouble of my own to try to take on anyone else's. I avoided eye contact and walked a bit out of my way, but she began to approach me. "Eric Northman?" she asked quickly. I looked at her suspiciously. "Im sorry, she said, I'm Octavia Fant. I am a friend of your father's."

I stopped, my shoe scraping the concrete loudly. "You _were_ a friend of my father's?" I corrected. "No," she eased, "I _am_ a friend of your father's. May I speak with you inside?" I couldn't hide my surprise or my suspicions. I stared at her for a moment, frozen in place. She was very gentle and unassuming as her eyebrows raised hopefully. She was too sophisticated for me to say she was grandmotherly, but I had no doubt that she had enough years to assume such a role. My first inclination was that this woman had had a previous affair with my father and was here for money. But her preference for the present tense verb piqued my interest. I didn't want this to unfold in a parking garage, so I quietly led her into my apartment and motioned to a chair, where she sat properly.

"Eric, a man named Andre Paul is your father. He lives in New Orleans and he's very sick. When your mom and Stan died, he wanted to tell you, because he wanted to care for you, but he was afraid to hurt you." She produced a worn old photograph of a man who looked just like me, but in 1970s attire. He was holding a baby boy.

After staring at this photo, I blinked for the first time in probably ten minutes. "I'm sorry, can I get you a drink?" I asked her. "Thank you, yes, some water please." I slowly made my way to the kitchen and tried to compose myself. I thought about my dad, or _Stan_, rather_. _I was rewinding through my childhood desperately looking for clues that I had missed. I don't know how long I stood motionless in the kitchen before I felt Octavia's hand on my arm. "He would like very much to meet you . . . before . . . it's too late. But he will understand if you don't wish to do so." I nodded, handing her a glass absently. "Of course," I said. She placed a business card in my hand and I slipped it into my pocket.

Octavia stayed just until she'd finished her water. I asked some questions about Andre's relationship with my mother, but she told me she'd prefer to let him answer. She seemed very pleased that I said I planned to visit. I respected her and admired her all at once with the realization that she hadn't had an easy task today. I pondered the nature of her relationship with Andre.

After she left, I pulled out the card. It read: Andre Paul, Consultant. There was a New Orleans address, but no phone number. Throughout the evening, I fixed myself a long series of increasingly potent drinks and sat in darkness and silence. Invariably, and much to my surprise, my thoughts repeatedly drifted back to Sookie.

The next morning I awoke in the same place I had sat for the past innumerable hours. I headed to the gym to think. Unfortunately, I knew I needed to talk to Bill. I decided to leave in the morning and stop in Metairie before visiting Andre.

When I pulled up to Bill's house, it was mid morning. I hoped Sookie would already be at work and I could avoid an awkward confrontation with her. But I became confused when I saw her car there. Telling the person you'd grown up thinking was your brother that he was really your half brother was some heavy stuff. And then there was the financial complication. Technically, all of our inheritance was from dad. Since he wasn't my relative, I didn't have claim to it . . . or so my attorney had advised me. I struggled with the idea that I ought to fight for it under the pretense that Stan probably believed I was his son. But then I knew the money would just be going to Pam anyway. I'm not sure who I'd least like to have the money – Bill or Pam, but I certainly wasn't going to pay legal fees for Pam to have it.

Bill answered the door in pajama pants and a satin robe. He was certainly surprised to see me, and he didn't invite me in right away, though he plastered on a fake smile. I told him I'd just arrived and that I needed to talk to him immediately. I sensed Bill was anticipating some Pam drama and he took pity on me and led me inside. The house was a disaster. I had never seen it – or any house – look so disorderly. I sat on the couch and began to collect my thoughts. Bill hadn't sat. He was pacing slowly and his eyes were darting around and I found myself distracted by his behavior.

Octavia's revelation had really answered a lot of questions. I often wondered why Bill and I were so different – mainly in terms of behavior and ingrained mannerisms – and now I had my answer. I began to describe what happened with Octavia when I heard the woman's voice calling out. "Oh Billy," she sounded sleazy and phony like a phone sex operator.

I quickly rose and turned around to see her enter the living room wearing panties and nothing else. She made no motion to leave or cover herself upon seeing me. She was a thin brunette, with breast implants, and was clearly older and taller than Bill. "Ooooh, company," she sang in an anticipatory tone as she eyed me. I took a deep breath and turned to Bill with a scolding raised eyebrow. He assumed the countenance of a five year old who'd just been caught with a hand in the cookie jar.

I crossed the room and grabbed him by the collar of his robe, dragging him out the door onto the porch. I gnashed my teeth and spoke as if I could breathe fire, "You have twenty-four hours to tell Sookie the truth about what you're doing, or I will. Do you understand?" Bill was flustered. His breathing was erratic and he actually looked like he might cry. I widened my eyes and gave him a shake, repeating, "Do you understand?" "She's in the hospital, Eric." I released his shirt and stepped back and my mind started to race. Had Bill hurt her? "What? What for?" I demanded. He didn't answer and I took a step toward him. He spit out, "S-she had an accident at work Monday. One of those monster kids pushed her and she hit her head."

After the split second it took for my brain to process his words, I turned and headed for my car. I had to see Sookie and Bill would just have to wait. As I opened the car door, I looked back to Bill. "Jesus, Bill. What is wrong with you? You have twenty-four hours. Make no mistake, I will tell her." As I shifted the car into drive, I saw Bill running toward me waving his arms, "Wait! Wait! Sookeh needed something from her trunk!" I slammed it into park and approached him as he unlocked her trunk. Bill stared at the small red rolling suitcase before reaching for the zipper. Inside, neatly packed, were about three days' worth of clothes, a toilet bag and a pair of incredible pumps. "Why does she have a packed suitcase in her trunk?" Suddenly, it became clear. She was planning to come to New York, but had been unable to because she was hurt. I didn't answer Bill, I just zipped the bag closed and lifted it out, carrying it to my car.

I sped to East Jefferson Hospital. I hadn't gotten to tell Bill about Andre, which I wanted to do before visiting him in New Orleans. But none of that mattered, I needed to be sure Sookie was okay and see through my threat to Bill about coming clean to her. I was not going to relish telling Sookie if Bill did not do the right thing. I braced myself as I knocked on her door. She seemed to be sleeping and I let out a breath of relief as I surveyed her injuries. Her head was wrapped and her face had two deep scrapes on the left side. When I examined her IV, I saw the bag was infused with Codeine. She was in substantial pain.

A/N: I'm not a doctor or a lawyer so all the legal and medical drama is not founded in any reality whatsoever!


	8. Chapter 8

Okay, get ready for a ride on the POV rollercoaster. Maybe I've set a record for most POVs in a chapter? We're covering a lot of ground, sorry if it gets confusing, I promise I'll reply and clear anything up that's a little foggy. Thanks for riding – I mean, reading

EPOV

I set down the suitcase and she stirred. Her eyes fluttered open and darted to my face. I smiled and crouched down to her, "Sookie." I rested my hand on her arm and she smiled. "What happened?" My knuckles brushed her unscathed cheek. Her skin was warm and soft. I saw her eyes become glassy and a tear threatened to fall. She sniffed. "I couldn't come because I got hurt," she was presenting her excuse. "Shh, no, Sookie – it's okay. I know that now. But what happened to you?" "I'm okay, really," she said softly. "Wrong place, wrong time, I was trying to prevent this scrawny student from getting pounded by a guy ten times his size. The big guy whirled around so fast and he was so strong he knocked me down. I hit my head on the radiator. Hard." I couldn't conceal the pain on my face. She reached up to touch me with her IVed hand and said sheepishly, "I was coming. I promise." Now it was my turn to hold back some tears. "What do the doctors say?" She stalled a minute then said quickly, "I was unconscious when they brought me in. I've been here a few days, I guess. They're saying it's a really good sign I can walk and talk and remember things. Otherwise, it's wait and see." She faked a smile.

"Did Bill call you?" she asked. "No, I didn't know until I showed up at your house." "Why were you at my house?" she asked suspiciously. Here goes. "Well, it would seem that Bill and I have different fathers." Her mouth fell open. "Go on," she said after awhile. "I was visited by a woman who is friends with my actual father, Andre. He's still alive, but very sick." Her face was etched with concern, "Eric, how are you dealing with this? It's . . . a lot." "It is a lot, but I'm okay. I think my work is suffering from all this drama in my personal life. I don't really know. I spend all my time thinking about you." She smiled so sweetly and I reached down to kiss her. It was a quick, caring kiss but the sparks were still there.

"Have you told Bill?" she asked, and my mind darted around, wondering if she meant about us or about Andre. "No, not yet," I replied impartially. I told her I planned to see Andre the next evening and she told me she hoped to be released tomorrow morning. "Eric, do you want me to come with you to Andre's?" It was such a nice gesture, something so very selflessly Sookie. "I would love that," I smiled and said. I stayed at the hospital until after she fell asleep. Then, I dragged myself to a hotel to get some rest before the harsh realities of the next day.

SPOV

After the nurse brought my discharge paperwork, I called Bill. He told me he couldn't come get me until after lunch because he had a conference call. I was frustrated and I wanted to get home. I thought about calling Eric, but I knew he was going through enough. I wanted to be ready to be there for him today if he needed me. I asked Bill if I should take a cab but he said he could probably get there faster. So I settled in the waiting room watching soap operas for a few hours.

Bill was in a rush when he came to get me. I got the distinct impression he was annoyed by my accident and having to make trips to the trauma hospital. He'd only come twice and called once in the past few days, and it was all rushed. As we drove I thought about what his reaction would be to learn that Eric was really only his step brother. "Sookeh, why did you have a packed suitcase in your trunk?" he asked out of nowhere. "What?" I asked. "Your toilet bag, clothes . . . where were you going?" "Oh, nowhere, it was um . . . an activity for school. A creative writing assignment." I lied, and it didn't feel that dirty, just a little uncomfortable. I wasn't sure if Bill believed me, but he didn't ask any more questions.

The traffic on the highway was backed up for miles and we couldn't see the cause from our position in the rightmost of three lanes. Bill had no patience for these facts of life and every fifteen minutes or so, he would hit the steering wheel hard and let out a string of obscenities. I just rolled my eyes as we sat in torturous silence. I had almost dozed off when I heard a deeply purring motor approaching from behind us. I lifted my head lazily to look in the side mirror and I saw a motorcycle riding the shoulder, slowly passing by the idling cars. As the motorcycle overtook our car, the driver turned and looked back. He slowed to a stop and his feet stretched down to the pavement. He climbed off the motorcycle but did not remove his helmet.

He began walking slowly and stealthily toward us and in an instant I recognized the gait. It was Eric. "What's this dude doing?" Bill asked between a series of huffs and tongue clicks. I didn't answer. I had no idea where Eric had gotten a motorcycle or what he was doing. When he was about ten feet from our car, he lifted the visor of his helmet and I saw his blue eyes staring at me. Bill was saying, "Sookeh, lock your door . . . wait a minute . . . is that _Eric_? What the. . . .?" Eric's eyes were very serious but I couldn't help smiling. He opened my car door and stood with his hand outstretched to me. Not a second passed and I placed my hand in his and lifted myself out of the car. He led me back to the motorcycle silently and handed me a helmet. We climbed onto the machine and I circled my arms around him. He gave my hands a squeeze before starting the motor and driving off.

EPOV

I didn't know where I was going. Autopilot took over and I found myself in Bon Temps, honing in on the town park. My mind drifted to the summer camp I'd spent here with Sookie and the pink bikini she had worn. I pulled into a parking space and we carried our helmets to a picnic bench. Sookie ran and bounced a little along the way and I suspected she was on a little adrenaline high after what we'd just done. I had no idea if Bill had heeded my advice and told Sookie about his affair. She was smiling and I was so happy to see her but I decided now was not the time to be tentative.

"Sookie, I need to tell you something. It's very difficult for me to say and it's going to be even more difficult for you to hear." Her face became stoic and I grasped both her hands. "Bill is having an affair. I suspected it since Christmas but I found out yesterday and I gave him 24 hours to tell you. Did he?" Her jaw fell and she wasn't hiding her devastation. I felt like the world's worst piece of crap. How could I have just said that to this beautiful girl? "Did he, Sookie?" She shook her head. Bastard. Of course he'd leave it to me. Her tears streamed down her face now and she pulled her hands away and tried to cover her face to hide from me. "Hey. It's not your fault. Please don't cry. I know it sucks. You still have me, Sookie." Her eyes darted to mine when I said those last words. Suddenly she looked angry and I was afraid of her unpredictability and emotions. "It's karma," she said, "If I hadn't been so attracted to you, this wouldn't have happened." Oh, fuck. She was blaming us – me.

"No, Sookie. I suspect this has been going on a long time. I saw her." I didn't think the pain in her eyes could grow, but it id. It was breaking me. She was shaking her head, "I don't want to know," she muttered, laying her head down on the table. I gathered my strength and pulled her into my lap, resting her head on my chest. "It's going to be okay." She was sobbing now and I stroked her hair. "I'll wait for you Sookie. I promise."

After awhile, she quieted and rose her head, "Will you take me home?" I nodded and walked her to the bike with my arm around her waist as she stared at the ground. When we arrived in her driveway, I climbed off and pulled off my helmet, but it quickly became obvious she didn't want me to stay. "Are you still going to see your dad?" she asked. I nodded. "I can come if you want," she said. "Thanks, Sookie, I'll be back around 7:00, okay?" She agreed and I started to leave.

SPOV

I slowly walked toward my door and entered to see Bill sitting on the sofa. He looked at my red puffy face and rose to meet me. "Sookeh, do you want to tell me what that was all about?" I didn't really have the will for a good argument but I mustered all I could. "Don't you think you should be the one explaining to me?" I retorted. "Explain why _you_ left _me_ in the traffic jam to ride of with your knight in shining armor who also happens to be my brother? Hardly!" The gall! "Bill, Eric told me. I know you're having an affair –" "Sookeh, no, Eric is lying. He just wants to steal you for himself. He's trying to weaken our love. I can explain, it's not what you think. Eric misunderstood."

"No," I said firmly, "I trust Eric. He wouldn't have told me if there was any chance it was a misunderstanding. Now listen, here's how it will be: I will continue to live here while I figure out where I'm going to live and while we work out the terms of our separation. I don't want to speak to you and I don't want to interact with you in any way. Do you understand?" "Sookeh, I love you, you can't do this!" "Bill, I'm doing this. And it's all your fault. Starting right now, we communicate via attorneys."

I trudged upstairs to shower and get ready to be supportive for Eric. I didn't tell Bill where I was going. I was glad that Eric picked me up in a car instead of the motorcycle. We rode in silence to New Orleans. I wanted to tell Eric that Bill had the nerve to deny it, but my mind was numb. Besides, I knew Eric wanted to focus on meeting his father for the first and possibly the last time. We parked on the street in the Garden District and Eric grabbed my hand as we walked to the door. An obese man with a German accent answered ceremoniously. He did not seem surprised to know that Eric was there. He led us inside to wait in an ornate foyer. Andre's home was magnificently decorated in expensive European antiques and art. The sound of a door swinging open broke me from my musings.

"I knew I would be meeting my son today, but I did not know he would be bringing a ripe, juicy peach with him." I spun on my heels to meet Eric's father, a sharply dressed man with chiseled features, seated in a wheelchair. Andre hadn't greeted Eric yet, but he rolled right past him toward me. I resisted the urge to take steps backward. He extended his hand and, after a pause, I gave mine. He held my hand and said, "You must be Eric's wife." "No," I said, as he kissed my hand with an appallingly wet kiss. His eyes shot up to mine. "You are not married?" He looked to Eric. "I am," he said quietly. Andre chortled repulsively. "Ah," and he looked back to me, seeming even slimier than before, "Let's go to the conservatory then, shall we?"

We followed the wheelchair and I shot Eric a very unhappy look. His eyes put me at ease and he placed his hand on the small of my back. Somehow I knew I was safe with Eric. I just didn't want to be left alone with his father.

"I am a very sick man with a very unique slant on life. Do you know how long I have to live?" Eric and I shook our heads. "Two months," he provided. "Do you know how I plan to spend that two months?" We were silent. "Doing what makes me happy. And what makes me happy is chess and having sex with beautiful young women." Eric tightened his grip on my back and started to turn back as Andre said, "My son," and Eric stopped. "Do you know what I have spent my life doing?"

Eric shook his head. "I am a world champion chess player and strategy consultant. Now, I would like to play you." Eric knitted his brow and glanced at me. I tried to silently communicate that he should be as obliging as possible, given the circumstances. This man was a whole new level of creepy, but I knew his time was short. Eric acquiesced. Andre seemed very pleased and led us across the black and white marble checkered floor to an area of the room with a chess board set up.

Eric and Andre sat and focused on the board, "Now we set the stakes." Andre rubbed his hands together and began casually, "If you win, I will tell you everything I know of your childhood, your heritage and your mother. And, make no mistake, it will be worth your while." He smirked, "If I win," Andre looked toward me and smiled. My stomach dropped through the floor, "She spends the night with me." Eric pushed himself up with such force that his chair fell over. He grabbed my arm and announced, "We're leaving."

I was astounded by Andre's lack of integrity and inhibition. He was so much unlike Eric. Eric had us practically running through the foyer and into the street, never letting go of my arm. He ushered me into the car and once he was seated and we were locked inside he said, "Sookie, I'm so sorry. I should have never subjected you to that. I had no way of knowing. I'm so sorry." "Eric, it's okay, I know you're not responsible. And besides, nothing happened." "Nothing happened? Sookie, my _father_ propositioned you within ten minutes of meeting you . . . and me." "But didn't you want to know his secrets? I bet you're really a prince or something. . . ." Eric shot me a look, "Am I?"

EPOV

I arranged to meet Bill at the diner the next night to explain about Andre.

He was late and drenched from the rain as he sat across from me. He looked annoyed. I started with what couldn't wait, "I didn't relish telling Sookie about your indiscretions. You're a bastard to do that to her." Bill scoffed and shrugged, "Oh it's all okay, she knows it was a misunderstanding. We're fine. In fact, we're better than fine. We're going to start trying to have a family." I felt my stomach contents churn and wished that diners served alcohol. How could Sookie believe his lies? I leaned across the table and injected some venom into my voice, "So the woman in her panties at your house in the middle of the morning was a _misunderstanding_? For fuck's sake, Bill. I'm not stupid." Bill smiled a snarky smile and I wanted to beat him to a pulp even before he spoke, "Sookeh is a very sweet and understanding woman." "Whatever, Bill."

I pushed it away and began to tell him about Octavia as our omelettes arrived, "So, my father is not Stan, but a man named Andre who lives in New Orleans, and is terminally ill. I don't know why, Bill, but I will always consider you my brother, since we were brothers in every way that counts." "Wait," Bill triumphed, "So if Stan isn't your father, I was his only child, and all his inheritance is now mine?" I rolled my eyes and nodded. What a prick. My "brother" was taking the love of my life and my inheritance now. I didn't know how much longer I could sit here. I ate a few more mouthfuls and deposited some bills on the table, "You don't deserve her Bill."

SPOV

I was upset that Eric returned to New York without saying goodbye . . . or more. I understood he must've been embarrassed and confused by Andre's actions, but it wasn't enough of an excuse. I had found an inexpensive apartment rather quickly and moved out in about a week's time. I hired a reasonable lawyer and decided to demand half. I wasn't a greedy girl, but I had wasted time with Bill, who obviously thought nothing of our marriage. I hadn't heard from Bill in the two months I'd been living in my apartment. All in all, I was feeling okay, except for when I thought of Eric. Spring break was two days away and I planned to log some serious beach time sunning and relaxing.

It was during this beach time that I came across the death notice for Andre Paul in the newspaper. He had died two days ago. It listed Eric as his only son. The funeral was going to be held tomorrow evening in New Orleans. My heart hurt for him and I thought about calling him, but refrained. The next day I couldn't push the thought of Eric alone at his father's funeral out of my mind. He'd already buried a father and this had to be exponentially harder after Andre's improprieties. So, that evening, I put on my LBD and drove to New Orleans.

I arrived at the stuffy funeral home among the modest number of guests, mostly young nerdy men, probably clients. I stood to the side of the room, searching. When I saw him, I felt a numbness coarse through my body. His arm was intertwined with a woman's. So Eric had a girlfriend and she looked, well, _exactly_ like me. I stood completely motionless while my eyes scaled her. It was like looking in a mirror; only she looked richer and more sophisticated. I blinked hard and noticed then that Eric saw me. He broke off his conversation and I tried to look and act normal but I wasn't sure I was pulling it off. I wanted to run to the ladies' room and hide until everyone left. He guided my clone over to me and nodded his head, "Sookie, I didn't expect to see you. Is Bill here?" "Bill? No! Why? – nevermind. Eric, I'm sorry for your loss." I said as sweetly as I could muster. My eyes traveled to my clone. Eric spoke, "Sookie, this is Hadley."


End file.
